Secret
by J.Prufrock
Summary: The story of Kamio and Kirihara from when they first met through to their comings of age as captains of their respective teams.
1. Chapter 1

_**Secret  
****Summary: Tale of Kamio and Kirihara and their comings of age. Eventual KiriharaxKamio.  
Rated: T**_

XxX

April 14, 2000

**The First Match**

* * *

In retrospect, Kirihara kind of wished that he had been in a more refined position when he first saw him.

Not that he had done anything seriously _wrong_ or anything—it was just a little lemon juice in Sanada's water bottle—but still, he later concluded, maybe he should have waited until after the game to pull something like that. Sanada flew off the handle, not just because he had had to spit out a mouthful of lemon water all over the courts, but because he felt that Kirihara wasn't taking this match seriously. He had smacked Kirihara full-on in the face, rather harder than Kirihara was expecting, causing the younger boy to stagger backwards a few steps under the glare of his vice captain.

"If you spent half as much time on your technique as you do on stupid jokes—" Sanada was shouting, while Yagyuu and Niou cheerily waved at Kirihara from behind Sanada's back. Kirihara frowned and rubbed his abused cheek with his left hand.

"Geez, it wasn't _that_ big of a deal—" he muttered.

"It's about respect!" Sanada cut him off forcefully. "Not just to me, but to the other team. You don't go shitting around before a semi-finals match!"

"We're gonna cream them _anyway_," Kirihara said ruefully, staring defiantly back at Sanada. "There's no way we'll lose here—"

In response to that, Sanada hit him again, on the same cheek. "Just keep your head down," he growled. "And quit screwing around. Rikkaidai has class." He stormed off angrily.

Kirihara tenderly touched his cheek, and when it burned like hell, he trooped over to the captain's bench and collapsed on it, away from the rest of the team. What the hell did Sanada know anyway? Fudomine was a joke. They hadn't done anything to earn Kirihara's respect. This whole match was pointless; it would be a cakewalk, just a waste of time, and here Kirihara was getting beaten up for fooling around before the match…

Now feeling personally angry at Fudomine, as if it had been the other team's fault, Kirihara looked over at the opposite end of the court, still holding the side of his face. The other team was just coming onto the court, and Kirihara glared at each of them. He ran his eyes over the opponents; he only knew Tachibana, as that was who he would be playing. A boy with shoulder length blue hair and a tall guy with a bandana were the first to arrive. Kirihara gazed on, silently hating them all for indirectly getting him in trouble. Then another boy walked out onto the court. He was a skinny, gangly thing with dark red hair and a carelessly graceful gait. He ambled over to the blue haired boy at a languid, comfortable pace, like he had all the time in the goddamn _world_ or something, and tossed him a bag before sitting down next to him and putting in headphones.

Kirihara didn't know what it was, but he couldn't take his eyes off the boy. He was pretty sure he felt pissed off, but then again, he could never be sure with himself. The boy was too damn…calm. That was it. He was sitting and listening to music as if a complete and utter defeat _wasn't_ in his very near future. Kirihara smirked, imagining the fate of the whole team within three games. That ought to get the kid moving. No more lazing on the bench for _that_ guy.

Perhaps Kirihara's eyes actually did have laser powers or something, but after about thirty seconds, the redhead seemed to suddenly feel his stare and looked up at him. At first his gaze was blank, but it turned subtly hostile as Kirihara didn't look away, only widened his cruel, feral grin. Kirihara dropped his hand from his still slightly-red cheek. The redhead stared back, mouth in a sharp line, looking slightly annoyed for another few seconds before looking away.

Kirihara rubbed his hands together and stood up when he heard Sanada calling him to warm up with the rest of the team. Surprisingly, he headed over to meet them; usually Kirihara would sulk for at least fifteen minutes after being berated before returning in submission. But his mood had improved, somehow. This was going to be a fun game.

At the net, Kirihara was just one over from shaking hands with the redhead before the match. He still smirked over at the confident looking boy, hoping to disconcert him.

The boy gave Kirihara a smoldering look of distaste in response. Marui, who was actually shaking hands with him, sniggered out loud at the silent interaction. He cocked an eyebrow at Kirihara as they trooped back to the sidelines, clearly asking what the hell was up with that, but Kirihara didn't say anything. Marui didn't deserve to know. Anyway, he was first up now, playing doubles with Jackal against Fudomine's pair. It was finally time to see what the school was made of.

**XxXxXxXxX**

His name was Kamio Akira, and he could run like the goddamn _wind_. These were the first things that Kirihara learned about the boy. He got almost dizzy, trying to follow Kamio's movements across the court, jerky and hurried like an insect buzzing from leaf to leaf. He definitely moved well and played seamlessly with his partner. Kirihara noticed that his arm movements were a little strange sometimes: like he didn't lift his left arm all the way in serving and he always kept it tucked by his side as he ran, but overall it wasn't very noticeable. His partner had a few special techniques hidden up his sleeve, it seemed—not that they were much use in the match—and his style was similarly aggressive. All in all, their teamwork was quite perfect: like teammembers in a relay race, it was difficult to tell where one's territory ended and the other one's began.

That being said, they were absolutely no match for Sanada and Yanagi, whose tactics were vastly superior, even if their teamwork was not nearly as good. Kamio and his partner, who Kirihara had learned was called Ibu Shinji collapsed after losing six matches, though they had won two.

_That means it's my turn,_ Kirihara thought, smirking even more happily to himself, thinking about his upcoming match. They weren't bad, Fudomine, he had to admit, but it was still amusing to crush them. And now he, Kirihara, was taking on their captain and would destroy him.

Kirihara strutted onto the court and exchanged the normal pleasantries with his opponent, who looked unnerved, before taking his stance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kamio and Ibu leaving the court, probably to go cool down somewhere or get a drink. For some reason, it pissed Kirihara off. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted them to be _here_, witnessing the defeat from beginning to end, and knowing that it was Kirihara who had done it. Especially that Kamio.

The match went quickly. Kirihara thought he might have slightly overdone it, out of temper. He got increasingly annoyed with each point he took that the doubles pair wasn't there to see. They finally turned up, when Kirihara had already won four games and Tachibana had taken only one. In a fury, partly that Tachibana had won one round, and partly because they had missed his brilliance, Kirihara got a terrible idea and aimed repeatedly at Tachibana's knee. It was surprisingly easy, he found, to bring the captain down once he let go to his cruel instincts. Tachibana was soon rendered incapacitated and the match was called to a halt.

Since Tachibana couldn't play anymore, Kirihara was announced the winner, though they hadn't finished. Kirihara didn't care. He'd done what he'd come to do. He just made sure he flashed a charming-bastard smile at Kamio, who was gazing in shock upon his fallen hero. Maybe that would teach him to pick his idols more carefully…

Kirihara swaggered back to his team with his racquet over his shoulder, but he didn't get much of a hero's welcome.

"What's happening?" Kirihara asked. "That Tachibana's getting more love from his teammates than I am..." he said, only half-sarcastically, glancing over his shoulder irately at the crowd around Fudomine's captain.

Niou just scoffed. "When'd _you_ go psycho, Boy?"

Sanada didn't scold Kirihara, but he didn't say anything else either. He just instructed the rest of the team to pack up.

The closing ceremonies were cut short because of the injury. Most of Fudomine left with their captain to escort him to the hospital, so Rikkaidai was alone on the courts with no one to shake hands with. Not that the Fudomine boys didn't get in their fair share of glares before leaving. Each seemed to hate Kirihara now, which was fine by him, he decided. Now they were just up to date. Kamio had run out to the court once his captain had collapsed, pale as snow. Kirihara couldn't hear from where he was standing, but Kamio's eyes filled with compassion for his fallen role model and his mouth moved to words of comfort that Kirihara couldn't hear. Just before they took him away, Kamio looked back at Kirihara. It was clear that he somehow suspected that Kirihara's violence towards Tachibana was connected to him. He didn't even glare at Kirihara—just looked at him with wide, blank eyes as if he were not seeing just Kirihara's body, but was seeing straight through him, a thousand years into the future. He looked away.

The bus came to pick them up and Kirihara sat by himself, ignoring Marui's poking and half-hearted attempts to get Kirihara to join the fun. Kirihara stared out the window, feeling both pleased and a little disconcerted.

"Worried that team might come after you?" Niou joked, guessing at Kirihara's silence. "Don't blame you…Fudomine's hardcore."

"What do you mean?" Kirihara said suspiciously.

"Have you ever seen Fudomine? Do you know the area?" Yanagi asked patiently, guessing where this was going.

"What do you mea—"

"They're from the _slums_, kid," Niou explained, yanking on a lock of Kirihara's hair (none too gently, either), the way he always did when he was trying to make a point or he wanted Kirihara to feel stupid. "They aren't _like_ us. They don't talk things out. To them, dealing with a problem is like this…"

Niou held up two fingers and his thumb in a gun gesture, pointed at Kirihara's forehead, and said, "pow!" Then he and Yagyuu started laughing.

Kirihara's eyebrows knitted together as he tried to imagine the redhead he'd seen today holding a gun. Kamio had looked too fragile to survive a good punch in the face. He snorted, shaking his head. "I'll take that chance," he retorted, leaning back in his seat again.

It was a little early to start worrying, he figured. Things like this always happened when you were a top-notch tennis star anyway. Jealousy, blame, hate. Yukimura had probably dealt with it all the time. If the team wanted revenge, it would come all in good time and he, Kirihara, would be ready. He was currently more concerned about how to explain the flecks of blood on his uniform to his mother.

* * *

A/N:

KiriKami is my obsession...I finally cracked and decided I had to write an epic for them.


	2. Chapter 2

**May 6, 2000**

Senbatsu Camp

XXX

* * *

_It's called strength-splicing and it's more common than you would think._

_Take a team like Seigaku. Then pick some hot-shot adored hero like, say—Tezuka for example. Someone renown for being a good tennis player. You're about to play them and you're considering your line up._

_Now say your own team is a little disparate—you've got a few elite players who could probably really give Tezuka a run for his money and maybe beat him in a good match, and then you've got some pretty average players who would do fine against average opponents, but against Tezuka they would be creamed. Who do you put up against Tezuka? The elite or the average?_

_Custom and propriety, and that thing called "enjoyment of the game" say obviously you put the elite against the elite. But when you step back and think about it objectively, it's actually obvious which is the smarter choice: if you want to win, you should put the mediocre player up against the elite. Then let _your_ elite players cream _their_ mediocre. Because that's the beauty of tennis—you only have to win three of the five matches in order to be the champions. So take the first three easily and then who gives a damn if there's no way you would have won Singles One anyway?_

_In other words, don't waste your strength on battles you can't win. Just focus on needling the ones you can. The main problem is that sometimes it's difficult to tell which are which._

XxX

Kirihara ran these words in his head over and over.

He stood in line sandwiched between Sanada and Yanagi; probably the vice captain had planned it out like that so Kirihara wouldn't be able to make a single move without one of them noticing. A valid concern, if a little annoying. They were lined up in an array next to delegates from all schools in the region, listening to a welcome speech for the one-week Senbatsu camp.

Rikkaidai had lost the semi-finals. Not thanks to Kirihara exactly, but still, he felt a little guilty whenever he thought about it. It was all because of the line up; he was sure of it. There was no way he could have beaten Fuji, but some sucker like Inui would've gone down in six level games. Kirihara blamed Sanada more for a stupid line-up than himself for a lousy game.

It was strange, though; Rikkaidai had still received an invitation to the camp, specifically inviting along Sanada, Yanagi, and Kirihara to spend a week with other prodigious tennis players in an intense learning environment preparing for a match against an American team. There was no way Sanada would have passed up an opportunity so golden to observe their opponents so close at hand; he had RSVP'd or whatever instantly and now they were kicking off for the mini-adventure. Yanagi was almost in a frenzy when he found out—he had brought three blank notebooks around for his stupid data collecting.

Rikkaidai had suffered its last loss, that was for sure. It wasn't just that they wouldn't accept defeat again—it wasn't _physically_ possible with their new training regime, Kirihara was sure. His arms were perpetually sore from the swings of the day before, but they never healed; it was the same thing every day. It was part of the reason that Kirihara was glad for this camp—the work they did here would be a welcome break from life at Rikkaidai which was currently just a shade under torture.

Kirihara was vaguely aware that he didn't know what he wanted to get out of this, but he didn't care too much. Ever since losing to Fuji he had felt a bit awkward about tennis as his future. It didn't help when he factored in how much he had wanted to please Yukimura-kun by winning. But Yukimura might be getting better anyway—Sanada had said they would have a more definite notification of his status when they came back from camp. Kirihara couldn't wait.

Yeah, sure he was _reformed_ and all that stuff. That match with Fuji Syuusuke must have done something to his ego after all, right?

_Reformed my ass. _What was _wrong_ with people? In his mind, Kirihara tried to fabricate a character that used to be nasty but had a match with a stronger person and suddenly realized that he couldn't go around doing whatever the hell he jolly well pleased. Even in his mind, the idea sounded stupid, implausible. (1) No one was really _like_ that; did his peers actually expect that his was suddenly a new man just because of one lousy match?

Kirihara suddenly realized that he hadn't heard a single word of what was being said for the last five minutes. Snapping back to attention, he saw that the old hag from Seigaku was still talking, though she was now accompanied by the Hyoutei and Josei Shounan team managers. Behind them were also a group of underclassmen—mostly newbies from Seigaku, but also a girl that Kirihara thought he half-recognized with shoulder length light brown hair. He frowned, studying her for a few moments before it came to him: Fudomine! He had forgotten about them in the last few weeks…what were they doing here? Were they really that good or did everyone else just suck more than he had thought? Probably Yanagi had mentioned something of their records at one of the team meetings recently but Kirihara hadn't been paying attention.

Kirihara scooted around, trying to stand on his toes and see over heads to the farther rows of teams. It was difficult since he was actually on the short side compared to the rest of the tennis players present, most being third years. Finally though, after fidgeting around, he got a botched view to the far end of the line up. Kirihara wasn't disappointed; sure enough, there stood Kamio and his bud, Ibu. _No Tachibana, eh?_ Kirihara grinned to himself, remembering the match. He made a mental note to bother one of the Fudomine boys about that later.

Then Kirihara saw that everyone was suddenly moving and he cursed mentally for his stupid digressions. He casually followed Sanada and Yanagi into the building hoping to pick up some clue of what the hell was going on. They headed towards a set of bulletin boards at the end of the room and he figured that these were their training groups for the week. Pushing his way to the front, Kirihara found his name on the list under "Ryuzaki" and he mentally groaned, thinking of having to listen to her husky cackle every day. He quickly glanced down at the rest of his group, annoyed to find he didn't know anyone personally. His eyes stopped on "Kamio". He paused for a minute, processing this information before deciding that it was a good thing. At least it ought to make things a little more exciting. Unfortunately, they weren't roomed together, but he would have other opportunities...

They met with their teams for a quick run-down session before the first-day training. Kirihara sat alone, nonchalant, but quite aware nonetheless that he was the only one without some sort of companion. His roommate, Kajimoto, was just about the most boring bastard Kirihara thought he had ever met and they had only known eachother fifteen minutes. Surprisingly, Kamio seemed to vaguely know Momoshiro; or at least Momoshiro had hailed him and struck up a conversation with him when he had entered with Sengoku. Sengoku talked too much and leaned against Kamio as he did so, but that was because he was weird, Kirihara figured. He couldn't hear what they were saying from the other side of the room, anyway.

Ryuzaki informed them that they had a free practice session for today which mildly improved Kirihara's mood. At least he could train on his own if no one here wanted to talk to him.

Ryuzaki dismissed them and they marched outside towards the extensive athletic complex, towards the fields that were lined with tennis courts. Kirihara found himself feeling increasingly bored as he realized that Sakaki's and Hanamura's groups were in different parts of the athletics complex; in other words, he was stuck with his teammates.

Kamio was walking alone too, he noticed. Kirihara smirked a little to himself before making a quick decision and speeding up to walk next to him. Probably a bad idea, but he was bored. He also realized that despite his little thoughts on the matter, he had never actually spoken to Kamio.

"Alright?" Kirihara asked, smiling sweetly, leveling with Kamio. He was quite aware of his tone; he had been perfecting it over the last two years. It really took a special talent to sound bored but nagging at the same time; bland but grating.

Kamio didn't say anything. From up close, one could see that Kamio had a very angular face, all sharp corners filled with thought and disapproval. It seemed like he was biting the inside of his lip. He sped up a little.

Kirihara raised his eyebrows a little and followed, glad at least that Kamio seemed to be playing along. Or maybe that was just his nature. Kirihara couldn't tell.

"I didn't get the chance to introduce myself at our schools' match I think," he said. He loved stating the obvious. It bothered everyone, whether they realized it or not. "I'm Kirihara Akaya."

No response. Kamio jammed his hands into his pockets, perhaps to conceal them from Kirihara. Kirihara whistled softly and casually lifted his outstretched hand to smooth his hair.

"I just want you to know that I'm not upset by our match," Kirihara said in his nice-guy voice, which was just about the most unpleasant one he had. "It was just a game. We both roughed eachother around a little. But there were no hard feelings or bad intentions, really."

He paused delicately and counted to three. "By the way, how _is_ old Tachibana?"

The motion was very fast. Kirihara saw it coming, but just barely. He leapt out of the way as Kamio passed by the wire crate of tennis balls that they were supposed to be using. With just a smooth, subtle jerk of his foot, Kamio opened the latch at the bottom, releasing the tennis balls in a perfect swoop.

Kirihara jumped like he was avoiding stepping on crushed glass, but Ootori and Shishido weren't so lucky. They both tripped and fell in the mess of tennis balls, Shishido cursing sharply as his ankle twisted going down. Kirihara staggered back a few steps, gazing in amusement at what he had narrowly avoided.

"What the hell is going on?" Sengoku ran forward in alarm. "What happened here?"

Kamio just widened his eyes innocently at Sengoku and shrugged while Kirihara only laughed derisively as a response. It was pretty funny in a way, after all. If nothing else, at least two sempai had ended up on their asses.

The redhead didn't seem particularly pleased with anything that had happened, however. He just stomped off, leaving Sengoku to pull to his feet a bad tempered Shishido and Choutarou to their feet.

"Second years…" Sengoku muttered, shrugging and crouching to look at the crate. "Maybe it was just a lousy latch."

Kirihara turned to watch Kamio walking off by himself, but he didn't follow him this time, though he had been fairly pleased by this presentation. At least Kamio had a good sense of competition. It could be worse.

* * *

XXX  


* * *

(1) Except Gaara, of course Haha, _Naruto_ sucks


	3. Chapter 3

**May 7, 2000 **

Senbatsu Camp

XXX

* * *

The next day was Sunday, so they got the first part of the morning until noon off. It was mostly just for religious muffins like that Ootori, but Kirihara appreciated the break nonetheless. Half a day and he was already fed up with this camp. He decided to pay Yukimura a surprise visit and try to cheer him up, not accompanied by the rest of the team for a change.

The moment Kirihara passed through the revolving hospital doors, the revolting smell of panic and 409 overwhelmed him and he almost wished he hadn't come. How could Yukimura get better in a place like this? Just living here was enough to make anyone sick.

Finding Yukimura's room, Kirihara entered without knocking and ignored his captain's bemused welcome, heading straight to the window and prying it open.

"Better," he said, sticking his head out for fresh air and watching the sunny street below.

"What're you doing here?" Yukimura sounded slightly worried. "Is something wrong?"

"Does something have to be wrong for me to talk to you?" Kirihara spoke to the street. "We have the morning off. I haven't seen you in a long time."

"You should be practicing." Yukimura's tone subtly changed to one of scolding now that he knew there was no problem. "Everyone in that camp is dying to be on the national team. They'll all be practicing right now—you're jeopardizing your chances!"

Kirihara frowned, taken aback by this hostility. "But—"

"Just because we're one of the top schools doesn't mean you can afford to relax!"

Kirihara sharply drew his head back into the room and promptly knocked it solidly on the upper windowpane, causing Yukimura to stop his angry tirade in sympathy.

"Such a child…" he muttered, both amused and concerned as Kirihara gripped his head in pain. "If your tennis matched your personality…"

"I would never have made it onto the Rikkaidai team, let alone the Senbatsu camp," Kirihara recited, angrily massaging his head. This was a classic line that one of his teammates was always saying to him. "Look, I just wanted to see you. Are you doing all right?"

"I'll be back soon enough," Yukimura said, leaning back on his pillows. "There's a minor surgery on Tuesday; if it goes well, it'll only be a few weeks before I'm better."

"You mean it?" Kirihara's brow unknitted slightly.

"Sure," Yukimura smoothed a nonexistent crease in his sheets. "It's not as far as you think. We'll be going to Nationals together soon. That's where you need to be focusing your energy, not on my health."

Kirihara grinned, momentarily forgetting his frustration. "I'll forgive you for the last few months if that's a promise."

Yukimura smiled vaguely. "If all goes well," was all he could offer.

"Well, good." Kirihara dropped himself into a chair near Yukimura's bed. "'Cause I don't know what we'll do if you have another accident."

"Accident?" Yukimura started to laugh a little, a breathy sound. "No such thing!"

**XxX**

Kirihara passed back through the corridors towards the exit ten minutes later, thinking over the mindless titter that he and Yukimura had exchanged. It seemed like the captain was doing fine, in any case. Later they could pretend these past few months had never happened.

He was about to reach the stair landing when he stopped. He heard something. It sounded like…music? He turned slowly, frowning and held perfectly still, trying to ignore the sounds of shoes squeaking on patent floors and echoes of coughing and comforting murmurs. Yes, there was definitely some sort of melody on the air. The reason Kirihara stood so still in curiosity was because he thought he recognized it. Like it was part of a song he had almost forgotten.

Kirihara doubled back, trying to find the source of the music. He stopped behind a slightly ajar door, from behind which the sound was coming. Curiously, he pushed it open a little and peered inside.

Lying in the bed was the last person Kirihara had expected to see, though now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense for him to be there: Tachibana. Kirihara opened the door fully and stepped in quietly. On closer inspection, Tachibana was asleep, lying inert under starched sheets. Kirihara saw the source of the music immediately.

Kamio was slouched, almost draped, over the window sill on the other side of the room, looking thoroughly depressed. He was gazing out at the street below and humming some tune softly to himself, lost in his own world. Kirhara would have liked to prolong that moment when Kamio had his guard down so he could identify the pretty song, but Kamio abruptly turned around when he heard Kirihara's footsteps enter the room and stopped humming immediately.

If people could have shadowy auras that emitted vibrant sparks, Kirihara thought Kamio would have one.

The two looked at each other for a perfect ten seconds. Kamio glared at Kirihara but, as if thinking the better of starting a fight, merely closed his eyes briefly and inhaled deeply. He then promptly turned back to the window and lazily rested his chin on one hand. He resumed his dreamy vigil of the world outside while fingering—was that a _cigarette? _

"I thought I smelled something," Kirihara lied, looking accusingly at the cigarette held loosely in Kamio's right hand, from which thin rings of smoke were pirouetting in the air. "This is a hospital, you can't smoke in here!"

Kamio glanced at Kirihara for a moment, then snorted, a derisive, humorless noise. His response was to carefully lift the cigarette to his lips.

"What's so funny?" Kirihara asked irately after a moment.

Kamio shrugged, his mouth twisting. "Nothing really," he said. His voice was surprisingly even, compared to how all the rest of him seemed to be devoted to sharp angles and tempers. Kirihara suddenly realized that this was the first time he had ever heard him speak. "Just the idea that you thought you could tell me what to do." Kamio clarified.

There was a pause.

"…it was initially funny to me," he explained.

Kirihara stared at him. What was _wrong_ with this guy? Was he mental or what?

"It isn't anymore." Kamio added. He delicately pulled the cigarette out of his mouth. Kirihara thought he was going to snub it out on the ashtray on the windowsill, but he merely paused and then re-inserted it on the other side of his mouth. Kirihara watched with a mixture of disgust and fascination. He had never actually seen a peer he personally knew smoke before; his parents sent him to a school like Rikkaidai so he could avoid that kind of crowd altogether. Come to think of it, Kirihara didn't even know how Kamio had gotten his _hands _on one; wasn't it illegal?

"Those will kill you," Kirihara said abruptly. He didn't know what made him say it.

Kamio shrugged again. "Yeah, but it's relaxing. So it's a fair deal."

Kirihara scowled. By his tone, it was quite apparent that Kamio didn't even really care about smoking; he was just prolonging the experience to piss Kirihara off.

"Aren't you worried about polluting your poor captain's air?" Kirihara let a taunting air creep into his voice. He always felt more comfortable on this kind of turf. "I would be, if I were you. We want him to make a full recovery, _don't_ we?"

Kamio said nothing, but leaned back in his seat, visibly tensing.

Kirihara took that as encouragement, and casually strolled over to Tachibana's side. "It shouldn't have had to happen like this," he said theatrically, but keeping his voice low, looking down at Tachibana's still features, peaceful in sleep. "I wish there was something I could say to make it all better…something from the heart, you know?" Childish as it was, Kirihara was really enjoying watching Kamio's blood pressure rise. He was trying so hard not to lose his cool.

"I want to play him again," Kirihara added with relish. "Only this time without him fainting in the middle—a full match to the end would give me a feeling of closure. It can go quick, I don't mind. It doesn't even have to be fair."

"I don't think you have to worry about it being fair if _you're_ the opponent," said Kamio acidly.

Kirihara actually snickered at that, pleased by Kamio's nerve.

"_You'd_ be a worthy opponent too," he said, grinning cruelly. "Stubborness is always a good thing. How about it, huh? Let's play a match sometime."

Kamio laughed—very dryly—as if Kirihara had made a joke.

"I'm serious," said Kirihara, knotting his eyebrows in what he hoped was a challenging look. He'd forgotten to test it out in front of the mirror.

"And you think I'd play you? Seriously?" the humor abruptly dropped from Kamio's face and he regarded Kirihara with a look of distaste.

"Why not?" Kirihara shot back. "Scared?"

"Try again," Kamio said hostilely, finally throwing the cigarette stump out the window. He got to his feet, making Kirihara's toes tingle with anticipation of a possible fight.

Kirihara's eyes glittered. "Like both your knees?" he tried.

"What's going on here?"

A flat voice, somewhat inflected with surprise interrupted their conversation. Kirihara spun around to find the blue haired Ibu that Kamio always hung around with standing at the doorway, carrying some things in a plastic grocery bag. At his elbow was the little Fudomine girl with the short hair.

"Ah—Shinji, An-chan!" Kamio's voice was so different all of a sudden that Kirihara had to look over his shoulder to verify that it was the same person speaking. His tone was now soft in a friendly way, eager to explain his innocence. "That was fast!"

"Look who's talking," An said with a smile, but Shinji didn't reply, staring at Kirihara. "What's _he_ doing here?" he asked bluntly as if Kirihara couldn't hear him.

"Imagine my luck," Kirihara said dramatically, barely resisting the urge to bow ironically see if he could get a rise out of them. "I only came to well-wish your captain and I get the pleasure of meeting all of Fudomine."

"Tachibana wouldn't want to see you," Shinji said, either not getting Kirihara's sarcasm at all or simply ignoring it.

"What a heart-breaker. Always was." Kirihara put his right hand over his chest.

"Don't talk about my brother like that!" An cut in, looking fierce.

Kirihara raised his eyebrows at her. "I don't remember asking your opinion."

"Shut up! You don't even know An-chan!" Kamio intervened vehemently, stepping between Kirihara and An. He glanced at Tachibana, who had stirred at the noise. "Listen—" said in a sharp, low voice, "I don't know what you want, but if you have a problem, get out of this room first—"

"Oh, relax. I'm not going to tread on your _hospitality_ any longer." Kirihara raised his hands in a gesture of innocence and sent one more wicked smile to Kamio, not really caring about the other two. "My offer still stands. Have a nice day."

He picked up his tennis bag and ambled out of the room and Kamio hesitated, then slammed the door behind him.

"What offer?" Ibu asked confusedly while An watched him curiously.

"I—nothing." Kamio said angrily. "Forget it."

Ibu and An exchanged looks. Kamio paced about, fuming, as they unpacked the few provisions they had bought at the drug store for Tachibana. This was supposed to be a good morning.

**XxXxXxX**

Later, Kirihara concluded it was a good thing that he hadn't started a fight with Kamio—for drama ended up finding _him_.

He was just on the way back from self training—a little late, granted, seeing as lights were supposed to be out almost an hour ago, but he wasn't expecting the goddamn _curfew _police to be patrolling or anything.

But that was what he met. The girl from Fudomine—he_ still_ didn't know her name and the stupid thing was that he knew he had heard it that very morning—stopped him on the way back to the dorms. She had demanded to know where he had been, for no reason it seemed, other than to piss Kirihara off.

"What does it look like?" he asked trying to drown his irritation with an arrogant tone, tugging at the narrow towel around his neck. "I've been at the goddamn _circus_, for Godssake. They were in town this afternoon."

"Curfew passed an hour ago."

"What are you, the Gestapo? I think I'm allowed to self train in peace."

He pushed past her. She looked after him, almost grinding her teeth in anger.

"So who's next on your hit-list?" she called after him. "Atobe? Echizen? Kamio?"

"Like I would tell you even if you weren't a random spectator," he said, slightly amused, choosing not to deny her accusations.

Her voice wavered. "I don't know what you mean by following our team at this camp, bothering us like you did this morning, but if—if you _touch_ my friends—"

"You'll what? Make me wear your barrettes?" he was tired of this conversation and turned, heading briskly towards the stairs.

The sound of brisk footsteps made him look around; he saw her swing out of the corner of his eye.

He remembered thinking, _what _is_ it with Fudomine and surprise attacks_ before taking a step back, cleanly missing her hand, but finding no step support. He lost balance and tumbled down the stairs, rolling like a log after a certain point before coming to rest flat on his back.

There was silence for a minute before he heard squeaky voices and opened his eyes, only to see Horio's bewildered face looming over his own and An nowhere in sight.

XxX

Next thing, Kirihara found himself in the lounging room in the dormitory with some freshman trying to dab his face with disinfectant. No need add there was no cut.

At least this was the first time he was getting some attention from the rest of his team, though it was a stupid way to get it. The question of the evening was, "and how did it happen?" Kirihara had answered at least seven times already that he had fallen down the stairs of his own accord, but they wouldn't give it a rest. The fact was that no one believed him. Kirihara thought that someone like Momoshiro or Kajimoto would have bought it in a heartbeat, except that then Horio had shot off his mouth about seeing someone at the top of the staircase and renewed everyone's suspicions.

Kirihara wasn't sure why he didn't want to tell them about An. It didn't really matter—he wasn't even hurt or anything, so it wasn't like there would be a problem—but he didn't feel like going into it. For one thing, he felt pretty stupid about the whole thing: it was just a load of unnecessary drama. For another, he would rather that the whole affair was kept on the down-low, because if Sanada ever found out, Kirihara would probably be running laps until Judgment Day back at Rikkaidai—Sanada wouldn't give a damn if it was Kirihara's fault or not.

"All I know is I want to know what kind of people I'm teaming with," Shishido said with a shrug. "I think we should try to get to the bottom of this thing."

"Who did you say you saw, again?" Eiji asked Horio.

"I…thought it was Kamio…" Horio said in his annoying half-monkey squeak.

Kirihara rolled his eyes. This was another annoying complication. Where had Horio gotten _Kamio_ from, of all people? Was he a moron or what? How the hell do you mistake _An_ as _Kamio_?

The problem was, that everyone else seemed to like this option because it fit in perfectly with what they had already seen of Kamio and Kirihara's relationship. And Kirihara couldn't even explain why he looked so exasperated because he couldn't admit that An—or anyone else—had been there.

"…It does makes sense," Sengoku admitted, nodding slowly. "I thought he was nice…but Kamio's got a temper. He could easily have done this."

Of course at that moment, Kamio had to walk in blithely, strolling towards the vending machine for a drink without a worry in the world.

They all followed him with their eyes, saying nothing. Tapping his fingers on the side of the machine, waiting for the drink, he felt the stares and turned around, eyebrow raised in surprised.

"What're you all doing?"

His drink clunked out. Kamio's expression turned subtly from one of surprise to resentment when no one answered him. "Seriously, what's going on? You're all looking at me like I'm Akutsu or something..."

"Where were you just now?" Oishi asked in a tense voice.

He took his time, angrily tousling his hair and snapping open the can before gesturing down at his tennis gear in a "where do you think, dumb ass?" kind of way.

Kamio did not take it too well when he heard the accusation. He choked on his drink when they told him what had happened, torn halfway between a laugh and a scoff.

"You're not serious, are you? Would I _do_ that?" he looked at Kirihara for support. Kirihara muttered that Kamio had nothing to do with it, but in the same furtive way that let everyone know something was still hidden.

"Look, Kamio, we have an eye witness," Ootori said plainly. "And we remember what happened yesterday. But this isn't the way to deal with it."

"Of all fucking—" Kamio looked like he was trying very hard not to seize Ootori and throw him out the window. "This has nothing to do with me! This has so little to do with me it's not even funny! I—" he almost starting laughing, he was so furious. "I can't _believe_ this!"

"Well, we can't prove it either way," Sengoku said reasonably. "We can investigate tomorrow instead—"

"Investigate _what_? There's not even anything wrong with Kirihara!"

Kamio looked around at each person in the room, searching for support to his claim of innocence but finding none. His face crumpled like a used paper towel, like all the bitterness was imploding. Kirihara frowned angrily and focused on his knees so he wouldn't have to see Kamio looking like that.


	4. Chapter 4

**May 13, 2000 **

Senbatsu Camp

XxX

* * *

Screwed up though it was, Kirihara had to admit that one good thing had come out of the little escapade with An—at least now Kamio was as much of an outcast as he, Kirihara, was. It was pretty amusing to see the redhead sulking around, avoiding Sengoku and Momoshiro and all the others who had tailed him the first day because he was so angry about the accusation. Kamio had taken to talking to _Kirihara_, for God's sake—just because he wasn't quite as furious with him.

"Of all goddamn things," Kamio muttered, half to himself, stretching next to Kirihara as part of the warm up. "You've gotten my team, my championship….and now you've managed to ruin this camp as well."

"Aren't you going to ask me what really happened?" Kirihara asked bitterly, though he didn't really want to talk about it. He was surprised that Kamio wasn't questioning him the way everyone else was, especially considering that the event was directly affecting him.

"I don't care," said Kamio frankly. "It's probably something stupid. The only reason I'm even thinking about this is because I'm the new Antichrist all of a sudden. At least as far as our team is concerned."

Kirihara made a scoffing noise, but said nothing.

"And it's all your fault, naturally," Kamio added.

"_My_ fault? I told them it wasn't you!"

"With your eyes darting all over the place!" Kamio pointed out irately. "_I_ wouldn't have believed you if I hadn't already known it was true."

He flopped down on his back and pulled his knee up to his chest.

"Of _course_ this is happening…" Kamio muttered meditatively, closing his eyes. "Just wait until Tachibana hears about this; he'll have a fit. Leave it to me to barely toe the line in teamwork but then get charged for something I didn't even do."

"You didn't come here to make friends," Kirihara said sharply, echoing Sanada's pre-camp words.

Kamio snorted. "Yeah. Well…" he stood up, brushing dead grass off his shoulders. "Something tells me I don't really have to worry about making friends anymore. Wouldn't you say?"

He walked off, leaving Kirihara with a dual urge to laugh and punch something.

XxXxX

But apparently the rest of Ryuzaki's team was much more obsessed with playing Sherlock Holmes than either Kamio or Kirihara had known, because they organized for a search of the "crime scene" the next day. Kirihara tagged along to act as a figure-head for the investigation, but Kamio didn't show up at all. He was probably off somewhere chasing the wrong person.

The Prince of Mysteries pulled one over everyone's eyes again by finding a barrette under a cabinet in the area. Kirihara was practicing alone at the time when Echizen confronted An, but Kamio had happened to pass. It took him a moment to register what had happened.

"…Kamio-kun?"

"…"

Kamio's surprise wasn't even so much at An's discovery as at the fact that a culprit _existed_. He had begun to take it for granted that bad things just happened to him for no explicable reason, independent of thesis or antithesis. But…_An_? It made no sense. Not that it wasn't interesting…

"_You _pushed Kirihara down the stairs?" Kamio asked incredulously. After all the talks that Tachibana had given the team about never using violence, this was a pretty ironic.

An's eyes widened at the crisp look of disbelief on Kamio's face. "It wasn't like that, I promise! I mean...I did take a swing at him, but he stepped back without looking and fell down the stairs himself."

Up until then, Kamio was only half listening, too shocked by the discovery of An to care about much else. It was a cross between relief that he wouldn't be blamed anymore and disappointment that he could only save himself at the price of An. However, at these words, he looked up.

"He fell down himself? You didn't push him?"

"I wouldn't do that!" said An in self-defense.

Kamio's eyebrows knitted together and he got a strange look on his face, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. It was as if he was amused. The expression evaporated quickly, however, and Kamio sighed.

"You got me into a lot of trouble, you know," he said, just because he felt like he ought to berate her a little.

"I know. I'm sorry..." she said softly. She looked so miserable and pathetic that Kamio couldn't help but feel a little pity for her. She had obviously taken this quite seriously. It was difficult to stay upset.

"Don't worry about it," he said finally in a toneless voice. It was all so anti-climactic. Not that there had really been serious damage or anything, but still.

XxX

Later that day, word got out that Kirihara and Echizen were playing a match, and apparently this made front page news of the Senbatsu announcement roll, so Kamio found himself gravitating, like everyone else, towards the tennis courts to watch from the outside of the chain-link fence.

Kirihara certainly seemed to be controlling himself, at least considering that he didn't completely cheat, Kamio noted. Not that this really proved anything. Everyone had just sort of assumed that since the person Kirihara had been "protecting" had been An, he must be good intentioned after all and they had all just misjudged him.

Kamio clenched his fingers against the fence, trying to quell his anger. It was all so unfair. He wasn't exactly sure why he was still angry now that the little scandal had been resolved; it was just that none of his teammates had even bothered to acknowledge his innocence, apologize for the accusation, anything. Not a single "sorry about that, Kamio"; no "should have believed you"s. Kamio wondered if he was wanting too much out of this. All he knew was that there was something fundamentally wrong with Kirihara coming out of all this looking like the hero.

Speaking of which…

Kamio's mind was brought back to the game that was unfolding in front of his eyes when everyone in the sidelines simultaneously gasped. Looking more carefully, Kamio saw that Kirihara had tripped and fallen on his face, presumably from trying to run backwards too fast. He was draped in a most unrefined position across his side of the baseline and there were titters from the spectators as everyone wondered if Kirihara was going to go into "red eye" mode, or "devil mode" or whatever the hell that was. Kamio had never really figured that part out.

When Kirihara finally got up, his eyes were puffy and pink as they had been during the latter half of the match against Tachibana. However, his style of play was unchanged; Kamio could see that Kirihara was exerting a considerable amount of self control in each return. The match passed more or less normally except for near the very end in which Kirihara's serve smacked Echizen squarely in the eye. Kirihara rushed to the net immediately afterwards, apologizing and everyone figured that since it had only happened once, it had been a genuine accident. Kamio wasn't so sure. Kirihara had looked as though he meant to hurt.

Kamio wandered inside the chain-link complex after the game because he really didn't have anything much better to do than watch the sky change colors anyway. It was the eve before the end of the camp, so most people were just packing.

Kirihara noticed Kamio and ambled towards him with a strut-like gait. "Impressed?" he rubbed the towel over his face. "Guess you're wishing you had taken that game now."

Kamio studied Kirihara for a second before saying, "_Reformed_, are we?" He didn't know why he was needlessly provoking Kirihara. Perhaps the latter was rubbing off on him a little.

Kirihara grinned and dropped the towel into a heap on the court. "Yup, perfectly reformed." He cocked his head to the side and spoke more quietly, "It's all a little joke I play with their heads so that they'll let me play them. Between you and me…"

He leaned forward, making Kamio recoil slightly.

"I _did_ do that last one on purpose. Echizen should be a nice little panda tomorrow."

Kamio started. He had known it. But it was still a little unnerving to hear Kirihara talk about his exploits in that voice, without any hint whatsoever of remorse.

"Want me to show you how to do it? It's not really that hard."

"Get away from me." Kamio scowled. "You're crazy, you know that?"

"I think I'm charming."

"That explains a lot." Kamio turned to leave.

"I've got some time right now," Kirihara said, casually tightening his shoe laces. "Maybe just one ball? We can see if you're any better than your captain."

Kamio paused, torn between a slight desire to improve his game and a stronger one to walk out on the bastard.

Kirihara waited for a minute, then clicked his tongue impatiently. "I didn't ask you to _marry_ me, for God's sake. If you don't want to play, just say so."

"Fine. I don't want to play." Kamio pushed himself off the fence.

Kirihara hissed in irritation. "Hey! Come back here!" he chased after Kamio and held out a racquet. "Come on, this is my spare. Quit being a little bitch and we'll play one ball."

"Oh, really? Let me see that." Kamio said sarcastically. Kirihara handed him the racquet, and Kamio took it and flung it to the other side of the court.

"You're getting that," said Kirihara after a pause.

"No, I'm not." In a flash, Kamio was out of the court complex, running back to the dormitory complex.

"HEY!" Kirihara called after him, but he was already gone. Damn speed ace.

XxX

Closing ceremonies seemed almost abrupt. For some reason, Kamio felt like he had missed the train on some point. Like something _should_ have happened, was _supposed_ to happen, but never happened. All in all, it had been boring. That sounded a little weird, considering that he had been accused of assaulting a team member and had spent six days under suspicion, but even so. Not much more had happened; they hadn't even had a _coach_ for the latter half of the camp; Tezuka the Douche didn't count.

The camp had one last kick in it—the selection of the seven players to participate in the goodwill tournament against the American team. Besides Sengoku, Oshitari, Atobe, Kikumaru, and Fuji, two Rikkaidai players made it on, Kirihara included. Kirihara wore a smug smile for the remainder of the closing ceremony, flashing victorious looks while the other players either sulked or professed how hard they were going to work in the future.

Kamio didn't know how he felt. He wasn't exactly upset about not being chosen—he hadn't been expecting anything from the beginning—but he still felt a little hollow when he thought about what Tachibana might have accomplished at this camp.

There was a caucus for about twenty minutes after the closing ceremonies in which players exchanged the normal pleasantries and promises for the future while finishing to pack their belongings. Kamio left early to sit inside the lousy, beaten up van that Fudomine had provided—blissfully far from the Rikkaidai one. A few of the boys such as Momoshiro had complained that the camp had gone by fast and expressed a wish for it to last longer, but Kamio was quite glad to be going. As far as he was concerned, it would have been better to stay at Fudomine.

Actually, now that Kamio seriously reflected, it was really remarkable how _little_ fun the camp had been considering how many diverse tennis players had attended. A few people had whipped out new styles or attitude makeovers; a couple of overdue duels went down, and Atobe and Sanada had had a semi-apocalyptic match that Kamio hadn't bothered to attend—but other than that, what had happened? Nothing.

Kamio put his hands behind his head and reclined against the hard plastic headrests, spacing out as he waited for Shinji and their van driver to return from the campus. The sky had been a clear blue that morning, but for some reason misty gray clouds were now slithering ing, hinting at an imminent rainfall. Kamio's eyes followed them across the sky in diamond patterns. Thinking of soft colors always calmed him down a little.

* * *

ooo

* * *

a/n

Maybe the reflection on the camp sounds a little harsh, but I've always personally thought that considering what a good set up they had, the writers really fouled up that bit of the series. :S


	5. Chapter 5

**May 19, 2000**

Rikkaidai Fuzoku

* * *

XXX

* * *

Kirihara knew it was bad news before Sanada had even put the phone down. Though Sanada couldn't by any means be described as emotional or even expressive, when it came to Yukimura, it was always obvious.

"They say probably not for at least another month."

Sanada gave them the news they were all expecting to hear, but this suddenly made it final. Kirihara's heart sagged like a wet sponge.

Another month. Maybe more. What difference would it have made if Sanada had said another year? Or eternity? Yukimura might not make it back for the championship if things went on like this.

Kirihara thought he might have been able to bear this if they had at least won the semi-finals. But no. That had gone to Seigaku too, leaving Rikkaidai captain-less and now in second place to boot. What was infuriating was that Kirihara had _seen_ Yukimura less than two weeks before and he had seemed fine. But the surgery had not "gone well" as Yukimura had promised, and the recovery was once again set back. Kirihara could feel himself shaking and he didn't know what with, for he was neither precisely afraid, nor cold or angry.

"Figures," he finally said into the silence, jamming his hands into his pockets.

"Figures?" Sanada shot an incredulous look at Kirihara and Kirihara was glad that they were on opposite sides of the clubroom; he was pretty sure he would have gotten slapped if they were within a meter of each other.

"Yukimura's operation has a very low success rate," Sanada said deliberately. "The fact that he made it through is incredible. He's working hard in physical therapy now. You can't rush these things."

Working hard in physical therapy.

Kirihara had a mental flash of Yukimura in one of those papery hospital gowns, walking between double balance bars, and having to concentrate in order to keep from falling. The thought was so pathetic it almost tasted sour and Kirihara cringed. Anything but that. He didn't want to think about his strong, nationals-level captain struggling to put on a sock. It might kill him.

Kirihara realized that Sanada had started talking to the rest of the team.

"The match against the American team is in a week. They've invited two of us to perform," he was saying. "Obviously, I'm going to be running an accelerated training menu for those participating in the competition. It'll be good practice and it's best we stick to the plan as much as possible."

It might just have been Kirihara's imagination, but he thought for a moment that Sanada's voice had shook. The next moment however, the vice captain cleared his throat and continued,

"Yagyuu, you will be in charge of the rest of the team for the week; I expect you to run through the normal warm-up routines and direct practice matches. For the underclassmen, also."

Yagyuu nodded curtly with a serious face, though Kirihara could see over Sanada's shoulder Niou grinning like a madman and winking at his best friend; probably anticipating a week without Sanada on their case.

"Wait, who's going to be actually competing?" Jackal suddenly asked.

Sanada touched the bill of his baseball cap briefly, as if in annoyance. "Akaya and I," he said gruffly, as though he had been trying to withhold that information for as long as possible.

"Whoa!" Niou looked shocked. "How'd the little demon make it on?"

"I didn't ask," said Sanada icily. "They just read out a roster at the end of the camp. Akaya's been invited as well."

Kirihara frowned as most of his team members shot looks of disbelief at him.

"Well, _that's_ weird," Marui said frankly, throwing his arm over Kirihara's shoulders, but not in a very friendly way. "No clue _what_ they see in you."

Kirihara shrugged the arm off. He was feeling a little numb.

"I thought you were honored," said Sanada coldly, noting Kirihara's less-than-enthusiastic reaction in such a perfect situation to gloat. "You're very lucky."

"I know." Kirihara knew in the back of his mind that he was excited; it just felt like his emotions were on mute right now.

"You've got a strange way of showing it, then," said Sanada.

Kirihara opened his mouth to reply, but Sanada shook his head. "We've talked enough. It's time to start practice; there's not much time before the match." He picked up his bag and left the clubroom accompanied by Yanagi, presumably to go set up, while the rest followed lazily. Kirihara took his time, redoing a shoelace before heading out.

"What's _wrong_ with you?" Niou snapped, half-jokingly, half-roughly, punching the dejected-looking Kirihara on the arm. "Where's your enthusiasm? You've just been invited to play tennis on a shining platter, for God's sake. Would it be too difficult to muster a smile?"

Kirihara shied away from the contact. "It's not that; I'm happy to be going," he said honestly, rubbing his arm. "It's a great chance and all. I just…I wish Yukimura were better."

Niou raised an eyebrow and exchanged a skeptical look with Marui and Yagyuu.

"Why'd he have to get sick?" Kirihara muttered, looking at the floor. "It's not fair that something as stupid as disease should take him. I need him. _We_ need him." He paused. "Nothing has the right to take a captain from his team."

"Yeah, except _you_, right?" Niou quipped.

Niou, Marui and Yagyuu cracked up; Marui literally slapped his knees. Crowing with laughter, the three exited the clubroom, leaving Kirihara rooted behind, frozen to the spot.

* * *

ooo

* * *

a/n

Random question: can the words "game" and "match" be used interchangeably when talking about tennis? Or is there a difference?


	6. Chapter 6

**May 27, 2000**

Invitationals

XXX

* * *

Kamio watched with impassive eyes as Kirihara dashed from one end of the court to the other, panting as he tried to catch each return. He was expending a lot of much energy—Kamio didn't know why he wouldn't just let the ball go every once in a while. Wasn't it a better deal to lose a point than to hit a sloppy return and exhaust yourself? And why wasn't he stepping up his game? Where was that damned devil mode when you needed it?

The American team wasn't quite as strong as expected; so far, Japan had only lost one match and from the way things were going, it looked like this game might also be in the bag. Kirihara actually played pretty well for the first few games, though Kamio suspected that his success probably had something to do with his opponent's frustration and consequent apathy about the outcome of the match. Of course, Kirihara's "Phantom Ball" had turned out to be a useful trick as well, but that didn't stop the spectators from being deeply amused when Sanada pointed it out as a symbol of Kirihara's emotional growth.

The most interesting part came halfway through the third game. Kevin, who seemed to have finally warmed up mentally, hit a cord ball, perhaps by total fluke.

Refusing to give in the point, Kirihara made a net dash and mid-goddamn-_dive _pulled off a spectacular forty-five degree angle Phantom Shot which Kevin promptly fumbled and failed to return. It was a beautiful thing, it really was.  
The Japanese audience broke into excited cheering, only to be hushed a moment later by a second event: Kirihara's momentum hadn't let him go and he had collided with the pole holding the net taut. It looked like a clean snap to his right shoulder. A gasp shivered through the Japanese stands, quite closely followed by Sanada shouting out to his kouhai.

Kamio frowned, noticing the panic but not understanding it. Yeah, it must have hurt—but come on, it was a freaking _pole _for God's sake and Kirihara hadn't been going that fast; certainly nowhere near Kamio's top speeds, anyway. There was no way it should seriously affect his game.

Yet Kirihara remained curled in the awkward fetal position for at least another half minute, until the referee came to check and Kirihara got to his feet, claiming that everything was fine. He stitched his cocky grin back onto his face and Kamio felt a stab of annoyance promptly replace his momentary concern. Everything was fine. Probably Kirihara had just done that to screw with everyone.

But it wasn't until a couple games later that the effects really started to manifest. Kirihara first attempted playing left handed under a façade of arrogance, but there was no getting around the fact that his skills with his right hand were vastly superior. The moment he threw caution to the wind and reverted to a Phantom Ball, Kevin broke the spell with a rising shot and Kirihara fell to his knees, clutching his shoulder and the game actually screeched to a halt.

Kamio really couldn't believe that it was actually happening. For one thing, the irony was almost overwhelming. Kirihara had a history of destroying his enemies' bodies during matches and here he was, sniveling over his own shoulder! For another, it felt suspiciously like this whole thing had been staged so that Echizen could come in and sweep the audience off its feet. In fact, Kamio started to seriously wonder if this game had been fixed--but he doubted that Kirihara, in all his pride, would agree to such a thing. It was a strange feeling, to watch Echizen troupe onto the court and take Kirihara's position.

"What happened?" Uchimura slid in from Kamio's left side with Shinji, clutching a drink with a paper lid and eyeing Echizen as he took his stance on the baseline. "I leave for five minutes and Kirihara's turned into Echizen. This is like a really bad dream."

Kamio snorted and Shinji broke in seriously, "It's not funny, guys. Kirihara must be seriously injured."

"Oh yeah. That pole was no joke; did you see how cylindrical it was?" Kamio asked dryly and Uchimura broke into titters again. Despite this, Kamio couldn't help but carefully follow Kirihara with his eyes as the he was shuffled off the court by Sanada and a plump nurse to get his wounds checked up.

"It's weird though, that they're letting Echizen play for him, isn't it?" Shinji muttered pensively. "I guess this game is more important than we thought. What if Kirihara becomes the new Tezuka?"

"Then I'm moving out of town," Kamio said frankly. His tone was not exactly sarcastic, but humorously darkened in shade that Shinji alone could pick up on. He looked at Kamio.

"I thought you, of all people, would understand," he said, though not in a preachy way.

Kamio smiled bitterly, thinking about his own shoulder. "Maybe in a while."

XxX

Despite his personal feelings towards Kirihara, Kamio couldn't help but feel a little bad for him when he came back to briefly watch the match between Kevin and Echizen resume. He had a really wistful look on his face, seeing the twelve year old take over his fifteen minutes of fame without a trace. At least Kirihara had the decency to look upset about his replacement, Kamio concluded. That was something.

Kirihara lingered for as long as possible, watching the match unfold before leaving for the hospital. Kamio knew. He kept his eye on Kirihara until Sanada followed him out of the stadium, presumably to accompany him.

Kamio followed their path out of the stadium, disappearing into the darkness of an underpass. Then suddenly he couldn't help but snort a little. He started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Shinji asked in confusion, looking around and raising his eyebrow.

"I mean—it's not funny…not _really_," Kamio muttered, a twisted smile upon his face. "I was just thinking—what if Kirihara meets Tachibana in the hospital?" Kamio started tittering again, darkly. "It's just such a fucking _circle_, you know?"

"Guess you're right," Shinji didn't seem to find it that amusing. He turned back to the match. "But Tachibana might even be out by now. He's supposed to be back this weekend, after all."

"Yeah. Wait, he _is?!"_ Kamio was completely thrown as this information suddenly computed. "When'd you hear about that!?"

"Don't you talk to An anymore?" Shinji said, taking a sip of his drink and leaning forward to squint at the game. "She was talking about it a few days ago. She was all excited."

Kamio shook his head. No, he hadn't known. And apparently he hadn't even bothered to find out…

It was true that he had sort of drifted from An's side ever since the Senbatsu camp. Not that he was holding a grudge over the incident, but he simply didn't see her as quite the incarnation of perfection as he used to. Their relationship had changed.

"I didn't know," Kamio finally said vaguely, still surprised at his own ignorance. "I'll give him a call later; how about that—"

Kamio was interrupted as the audience exploded in cheering over some play, from which side he didn't even know. Cursing his absentmindedness, he hastily whipped around to see what he had missed.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**

"Tachibana-san?"

"Ah, Kamio, how have you been?"

Tachibana's voice sounded dilute and tinny; though Kamio blamed the lousy payphone near his school for this.

"What do you mean how've I been; how've _you_ been?" Kamio asked easily, realizing that he hadn't talked to him for a while.

"I mean, how was the match against the American team?"

Kamio paused. He thought of Kirihara bent like a paperclip around the net pole and Echizen riding a star of nirvana into some new tennis level and a whole assortment of things that really just didn't seem to belong in a tennis match.

"It was alright. We won." said finally.

"Thanks to Echizen, right?" Tachibana sounded a little amused at how Kamio hadn't mentioned the topic at all. "I know who won. I was asking how it was played."

"Everyone's performance was...a surprise. I didn't know a lot of people could play tennis like they did today." Kamio finally decided that this was the right thing to say, for it was true that everyone had played unexpectedly. Kikumaru had played without Oishi; the two drama kings Atobe and Sanada had teamed up; Fuji had nearly gotten his ass kicked.

"Sounds interesting. I wish I could have been there."

"Yeah. Me too." Kamio cringed at Tachibana's wistful tone and cast around for a change of topic. "But I just heard today that you're going to be back this weekend. Is that true?"

There was silence on the other end of the line as Kamio crossed his fingers.

"True," said Tachibana finally. Kamio could practically hear the smile in his voice.

"Why didn't you call and tell me?" Kamio cried, feeling immensely relieved and just generally lighter in the chest than he had for the past few weeks. "That's great news! When did you find out?"

"Only a couple of days ago," Tachibana's voice was sedate. "It's mostly that there's nothing more I can get out of this hospital room. My knee works again; I'll be able to play completely normally in another week or so if I manage not to get hit by a car or anything in the next few days."

"Of course," Kamio replied automatically, running and not even catching his humor for his heart was ballooning with relief at such an alarming rate. "You'll take it easy when you come back. I can even keep on running morning practices if you want, you don't have—"

"That's fine, Kamio," Tachibana's tone was final, though appreciative. "You've done more than enough. You should actually be staying at home more."

Kamio frowned, nudging the peeling rubber trim of the phone box with his shoe uncomfortably as Tachibana said that. He hated it when people on his team said stuff about his family.  
"I know. My brothers are okay, though. I'm handling it."

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't perfectly true either. Although Tachibana had a general idea of how Kamio's household ran, he certainly didn't know the details and Kamio didn't offer them, for fear that Tachibana would start trying to help him out with that, too. Because all Kamio really needed was some physical help. They had enough money for now; not a lot, but enough. It was more the playing Dad seven days a week that got tiring.

Tachibana didn't say anything. Kamio knew that he was only holding his tongue because he didn't want to venture out onto that branch and risk snapping something.

"Well anyway, we'll be kicking it back into gear Monday," Tachibana finally sank the silence. "It's a shame that no one from Fudomine made the National team. Fudomine's definitely going to be on the roster next year."

"You might have made it if you had gone to camp," Kamio pointed out, his shoulders relaxing at the familiar sound of the words Tachibana was always finding new ways of saying.

"I don't count, Kamio. It's time to start thinking about the team in terms of next year."

Next year. God, how Kamio loathed that phrase. At first it was just a couple of words that fell from the mouths of people who planned annoyingly ahead, like Ishida or Mori, but lately Kamio had realized that Next Year was only three months away, two of which included summer break. Summer break wasn't a big thing around Fudomine, since most of the kids' families couldn't really afford long, far away holidays, but it still always left Kamio feeling disoriented and not in control of things.

"It's almost time for me to call you captain," Tachibana reminded him. "You'd better pick a vice captain pretty soon."

"Spare me," Kamio didn't want to think about a Fudomine without Tachibana, at least not yet. "Can we not talk about this?"

"You never want to talk about the future," Tachibana shrewdly noted.

"You're right; I don't," said Kamio flatly. He didn't know why most of his friends had such a difficult time grasping this fact; even Shinji whom he had known for over eight years.

"You can't keep ignoring it. It's going to bite you in the ass one of these days," Tachibana pointed out. Then he paused. "Or maybe somewhere else, since the future generally attacks from the front..."

Kamio laughed a little. Tachibana could be quite serious, but he always knew when to back away and loosen up. It was one of his best qualities.

"But like I was saying about twenty minutes ago," Tachibana reverted. "We're doubling practice schedules. Even though we're not going to be the champions this year, we haven't lost it all. We can still rank pretty high and get seeded."

"…yeah." In truth, Kamio hadn't really made a plan for what to do if they didn't get first place. It just hadn't entered his calculations.

"And I think we should try to lighten up a little too, because Seigaku just screws around eating sushi half the time and I think that's their secret—"

"Tachibana…" Kamio interrupted his captian's slew of audible thoughts.

"What is it?"

He didn't even know what he wanted to say. He just stood in the grimy little box, trying to see out the smeared glass and feeling the sunlight that was filtering through warm his head. He smiled genuinely for the first time in a long while.

"I'm glad you're coming back."

* * *

XXX

* * *

**~End of Part One~ **

A/N

I have to admit: although I like writing this story, watching the actual show that it's based off always disheartens me. You should see the american tennis match scene in the anime. The makers are just looking for a way to get Kirihara out of the game without making him look like too much of a loser and they decide, "hey, I've got it! We'll have him run headlong into a pole!" I mean, come on. Seriously?

Just in case you're wondering, we'll get more of Kamio's pov/situation in part two


	7. Chapter 7

**October 21, 2000 **

XXX

A Day in the Life

* * *

"Unbelievable."

Kamio dropped the newspaper back onto his dining room table and just sat still, looking down at the thin headline in the corner of the page. As a matter of habit, he always scanned the local articles, but he never actually expected to see a familiar name….though now that he thought about it, he probably saw the name 'Echizen' in writing more often than he saw his own—

"Hey, I'm hungry."

His thoughts were interrupted by his younger brother, who was slumped in a chair across the room, tightening his shoelaces with clumsy fingers, backpack at his feet.

"I packed some junk for you. It's in the kitchen, go get it," Kamio said automatically, still fingering the corner of the paper bemusedly and trying to bury a twinge of jealousy that was poking him in the chest. This wasn't the time to be thinking about it. They had to get to school and his mother had already left for the day…

Abandoning the newspaper, Kamio hurried up the small flight of steps, as usual forgetting the last one and stumbling on midair before entering his room and grabbing his own backpack and calling out for his other brother to hurry up. _Two steps to cross the room, oh there's my comb, damn my backpack's ripping and why does my sock itch is there something inside and oh great we're going to be late again._

He hated the mornings, he really did.

Public transportation was the one thing that saved Kamio on mornings like these. He only had to pack off the kids to the bus stop a couple streets away, but they always left the house five minutes too late, meaning that they practically had to run to make it. Which, incidentally, happened to be the secret of Kamio's speed. Then Kamio the great captain had the privilege of sprinting to school so that he would have enough time to set up some things for the afternoon tennis practice.

Now that he was captain and all it was embarrassing to show up like this each day, but in truth, Ishida, the new vice captain, took care of most of the morning affairs. This left Kamio feeling guilty since he knew that he hadn't been that helpful to Tachibana last year. However, it would soon be time to gear up for the new tennis season meaning that ready or not, the court time was going to sharply increase. In fact, the pre-season friendly matches would be starting shortly and they were expecting to meet a great deal of their seasonal opponents.

In theory, at least. Kamio hadn't actually seen or heard from anyone from Fudomine's rivaling teams for over four months--the summer had been excruciatingly long. Kamio was a bit strange: summer was actually his _least_ favorite time of the year. He appreciated the good weather and the certain level of calm that came from having no school obligations, but the fact was that without school there to bother him, Kamio just started brooding on the things he couldn't change and making himself sick by worrying. Not to mention it had been more than enough work between watching his younger brothers all summer and trying to come up with an inspiring speech at every meeting. Fudomine practiced all summer since most of the students didn't go on vacation. All in all, returning to school had been a relief.

Kamio got onto the campus at his regular time, and immediately headed over to the tennis courts to check the situation.

"Hey," he said breathlessly, pushing his way into the athletic office and finding Ishida already there and waiting as he had expected. "Sorry about the wait."

"Did you hear about Echizen?" Ishida asked by way of greeting, holding up his hand at Kamio's apology, since he was so used to his lateness. "It was in the news this morning."

"Yeah!" Kamio shook his head. "I couldn't believe it. I mean, I didn't read the whole article or anything, but didn't it say he had won an overseas scholarship or something?"

"It's not that surprising if you think about it," Ishida shrugged. "He basically owned the National championships last year, this was bound to happen. What'd you expect?"

"I expect you to keep your _feet_ off the goddamn desk," Kamio responded, noticing it for the first time, to which Ishida groaned good naturedly, and slowly let his gangly legs drop off the grubby red wood.

"Think he'll really take it then?" Kamio asked, opening drawers and closing them pointlessly as he looked for something with only half a mind as to what it was. "I thought he was kind of your all-Japanese specimen."

"He wasn't raised in a petri dish as far as I know," Ishida said. "But it's an offer from America to play and study. Who the hell would refuse?"

"It's totally expense covered?"

"I would assume that's what 'scholarship' means," said Ishida in the bland voice that he used whenever cutting up. And when Kamio rolled his eyes, he added, "well, you can ask Momoshiro about it if you're so skeptical. After all, if An has anything to say about it, he should be around some time today—"

"Oh, shut up." Kamio blushed. He still wasn't sure he had quite accepted An and Momoshiro it's-not-dating, but his team mates still tried to get a rise out of him concerning it whenever they could. "They're not even technically going out."

Ishida made a soft noise of laughter.

"It's true! Ask An, she said that he never asked her out and they're just hanging around—okay, why did I even come in here?"

Kamio suddenly straightened up, realizing that he had been shuffling through the desk for several minutes without knowing what he was looking for. "What am I supposed to be doing right now?"

"Looking for this?" Ishida delicately pulled a folded paper out of his pocket and smiled sweetly.

"When did that come? I've been waiting for the roster for ages!" Kamio said, making a motion to take it, though Ishida withheld it.

"Relax, it just came in yesterday when you had to leave early. And I know it wasn't your fault," Ishida soothed, since Kamio was now looking wild eyed that he had missed something as important as that. "And anyway, I would have told you about it eventually. I mean, you know, if you were interested."

Kamio snatched the paper from Ishida, shaking his head and half-smiling. "You're the worst vice captain ever."

"And yet I'm still better than you were."

Kamio hit him with the envelope before carefully opening it and pulling out its treasured contents: the roster for seeded teams in the preliminary matches.

"We don't have much time now," Ishida said in a rare display of seriousness as Kamio carefully read over the placements. "Our first game is in less than two weeks. It's friendly, but still..."

Kamio wasn't listening. He looked over the list, and an incredulous smile was curling up the corners of his mouth.

"Rikkaidai's only _fifth_ this year?"

"Well, yeah, everyone's gone. Actually, I'm surprised they're even in the running, a situation like that." Ishida said, idly rolling a strip of notebook paper around his pen before blowing the tendril onto the floor, an infuriating habit that Kamio hadn't been able to snap him out of, despite their first few months working together. He glanced up at the captain when Kamio didn't reply. "Are you disappointed or something?"

"Well…I thought they would be our number-one competitors," Kamio admitted uncertainly, still not sure he was reading the paper right. But he had to be, for Seigaku the legendary hotshots were in first place where they belonged and Hyoutei wasn't far behind.

"Wasn't Yukimura the only person who could hold that team together?" Ishida put forward thoughtfully. "Rikkaidai must be like _we_ were last year. Completely fresh blood."

"I guess." Kamio shrugged. "Kirihara must be having a difficult time starting with a completely new team. How to motivate them and all, you know?"

"Oh yeah, about that!" Ishida's eyes suddenly lit up and a twisted grin crept onto his face. "What are you planning to pull for this year's show?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Kamio asked, only half listening as he let the paper flutter back down and land on the desk. Most of the time when Ishida talked, it was to make some dumb joke.

"You know! Tachibana had to change the way the administration looks at tennis for people to respect him enough to play for him! You're going to have to pull something too!"

"Ah. I was hoping I could just run on the steam of Tachibana revolutionizing underclassmen tennis at Fudomine," Kamio replied blandly.

"Well, I have some ideas if you want to see—"

"Are you guys going to finish this little party anytime soon? Class starts in ten minutes." Mori poked his head into the office and Kamio jumped and turned, seeing that a few of the other team members had arrived and were waiting outside.

"Yeah, right now," Kamio said hastily, shooting a look at Ishida as Mori backed out. "We're not doing anything important."

They left the office and hastily set up of the tennis nets and pulled out the crate of tennis balls for the afternoon before splitting for classes.

Kamio was a little troubled by the news of Rikkaidai, really. In his mind, he had consecrated them as the ultimate opponents, even though Seigaku had come out as number one last year. They were supposed to be the delicious challengers that Kamio knew they could conquer—but now it looked like they might not even give Fudomine a run for their money.

XxX

First period math, the only subject he semi-paid attention to although he wouldn't say that he strictly _liked_ it—it was just interesting. And once the rest of his teachers got to speaking, most of the morning would pass in a dream. Kamio always woke up sometime around two o'clock when it was time to start the afternoon practice. Walking out onto the courts and seeing the team assemble was like a resurrection.

Kamio had to run after them all throughout warm ups, nipping at their heels to get them to keep up the pace. He still got a kick out of giving people instructions and watching them being followed, because it felt funny. Like Kamio was only playing captain and pretty soon Tachibana was going to pop out from behind a tree and take over like usual.

After finishing the laps and several sets of what the team fondly referred to as "time wasters" but Kamio called plyos, the team could finally begin and Kamio found himself having little to say to each of them since he was focusing mostly on his own performance. Knowing that their first, and imminent, match was against Rikkaidai had put him in a strange mood, jumpy and over-adrenalinated. He played nervously, leaving the rest of the team to their own devices which they were fairly used to since the period last year when Tachibana had been hospitalized.

Practice passed quietly--An didn't show up all the afternoon, which slightly disappointed Kamio who was hoping to ask Momoshiro about Echizen, but other than that it was okay. They were ready to wrap up by five o'clock and as usual Kamio had to cut it a little early so as to ensure that there would be a reasonable amount of time between getting home and oh god, oh god having to help make dinner since his mom would be exhausted. That was one of the worst parts.

The walk home was always contrastingly slow compared to the rush in the morning. He kept hoping that someone on the other side of the street would suddenly recognize him and hail him so that there would be a digression to slow the progress of returning. But as usual, he ended up rounding the corner of his neighborhood at only half past five and his thoughts danced over the random aspects of his day, not wanting to accept the hardest part.

_Four steps forward, one back, there's change on the ground. Mori's got to fix that backhand, I don't know how he got through two years without it. Why does he wear that cap all the time anyway? It's too hot even with red hair and he seems fine…why are there tennis shoes hanging from that telephone wire? There better be bread at home, I'm hungry…Seven cracked steps, turn left, and jog here if you like. Are they both home already? Who left a cooking pot on the front lawn, have they been playing around or something? I'll kill them if there's crayon on the walls—_

Kamio practically shouldered the front door to his house open although he wasn't eager to see what was inside. Since his mother didn't come home until at least seven, it was technically Kamio's responsibility to make sure that everything was in order and the boys were watched--and conversely, if anything had gone wrong, it was automatically Kamio's fault. He didn't resent his mother for the extra responsibility, for he knew how much she needed the help, but it was still frustrating. He had become a part-time baby sitter, handyman, and cook for the family.

At least the walls were blissfully white and blank as always when Kamio entered the foyer area, but noises from the living room drew him and he entered to find one of his brothers sitting calmly on the sofa before the television, eating something crispy covered with plenty of salt.

"Where's Hiro?" Kamio asked warily.

Before he could answer, the second youngest one came toppling down the stairs, as if on cue, clad in a soaking wet underclothes.

Kamio sighed and rubbed his eyes, although he had come home to worse before. "What's wrong with you?"

"Let's just say the shower isn't working," Hiro responded, rubbing at his hair and getting water all over the floor, to which Kamio winced.

"I'll take a look at it. Just go put on some clothes, you're going to get sick. And when are you going to get over Pikachu?" he added, to which Hiro frowned down at his boxers and stuck out his tongue. However, he started to obediently mount the stairs with awkward little steps and Kamio collapsed on the arm of the sofa next to Yaso, the youngest. He hoped there wasn't anything seriously wrong with the shower because that would mean another hour spent playing plumber when he had five thousand other things to start on...

"Oh, I found that paper on the doorstep," Yaso said without moving his eyes from the screen, pointing to something muddy near the shoe rack with a salty finger. "I think it's old but I didn't throw it away. Do you want to read it?"

Kamio laughed dryly, burying his head into the back cushion of the seat. "I think I'll pass."

* * *

XXX

* * *

Arg. Sorry this kind of took a while, but I'm working on it as fast as I can without spewing nonsense (I think) and I've had a rough week. Not to mention that writing this chapter specifically was pretty painful. Well, at least it's out now and we can move on. In case you didn't guess, tennis is not my area of expertise and I wish I could avoid writing about it. But it's proving difficult to avoid tennis scenes.

ps I know I've skipped over quite a few things, but they'll get addressed-ish later.


	8. Chapter 8

**November 3, 2000**

Rikkaidai Pre-season Match

XXX

* * *

Six bloody matches to _one_? Was he seeing right?

Kamio felt as though he were watching a parody of a tennis match, or else that the whole thing was set up as a ruse, for how could it be, two weeks later, that Fudomine was whipping Rikkaidai as though they were a nameless unseeded school? The blur of black and yellow uniforms on the court brought a sickly sense of déjà vu to Kamio, so he felt as though he were watching a film that he had already seen, but that someone had tampered with since the last time he had watched it and now he didn't know how it was going to end.

"God, they suck, don't they?" Momoshiro eloquently put it. His voice was thick as he jammed a handful of sunflower seeds into his mouth, while somehow managing to simultaneously spit out the shells of the previous bunch from the corner of his mouth. However simple his words, they seemed to have hit the nail right on the head.

"Wanna keep your mouth shut when you're eating?" An said mock-angrily, hitting him on the arm as she sidled over to where Kamio was standing as well. Fudomine's break times were like little party sessions; supposedly only Kamio was supposed to be allowed near the captain's bench, but since it was a relatively unimportant match, everyone crowded around to talk nonchalantly. There were hardly any spectators at all aside from the referee and a few random people who seemed to have just been passing. Anyway, the match was in an out-of-district court, so the turnout was even worse. Momoshiro was only present because he was hanging out with An, and, it seemed, to add little comments at the end of every play. It wouldn't be so bad, except that he kept spraying everyone with sunflower seeds.

"I don't see what you're so surprised about. We've been training like hell, it makes sense to me," Ishida said shrugging, unperturbed.

"It's not that…" Kamio said, frowning as he looked over at the other team. Had Fudomine really improved that much?

"Upset that you won't get to play?" An smiled, seeing how Kamio looked worried. "Does that trash months of planning or something?"

"No…" Kamio looked down.

Across the courts, the losing team had just trooped back to get towels. They were chatting unconcernedly with one another. That was it, Kamio realized. The thing that was weird, the thing that was _really_ weird, and that was making him feel so uneasy was that no one from Rikkaidai seemed to really _care_ that they were losing. Well, no one except for the captain Kirihara, who had been sitting with his head in his hands since halfway through the first match. It was sort of pitiful to watch.

And here Kamio had been worried that things were going to be tense because of last year's rivalry. But the tensions seemed to have totally slackened on both sides of the rope. Rikkaidai as a team was hardly recognizable. Not only because Kirihara was the only remaining original member, but also because the whole new team had a very different aura to it. In truth, they now had an air much more reminiscent of Yamabuki.

Whatever it was, it took the fun right out of the game. Kamio, brooding on his stolen opponents, watched Kirihara who seemed to be in the midst of a desperate internal struggle on how to control his team. He didn't fit in the position of a captain. Kirihara belonged as a little kid on the side.

Kamio thought everyone was a little relieved when the match ended (landslide victory) and they could all shake hands again and go home. Kirihara hadn't met Kamio's eyes before the game, and nor did he now.

It had been so…anti climactic. The referee almost immediately left after the match and all that was left was to sort out the courts a little and pack up stray belongings before leaving.

Kamio noticed that Rikkaidai seemed to have no sort of schedule: half the team left immediately after shaking hands; the rest followed in five minutes, and Kirihara didn't move at all. He just sat there on the benches. After finishing to pack the equipment on the bus, Kamio shot a final glance back to see whether Kirihara had moved or not. He hadn't. Crouched over and staring at his knees, he looked like a gargoyle statue on a gothic church.

Kamio debated for a full two minutes whether Kirihara was actually upset over something or simply being weird and if his captain-ly duty compelled him to go ask about it. In any case, he concluded that it would be bad form to simply leave the guy there without saying a single word to him.

Leaving his bag with Shinji and telling them he would only be a moment, he jogged over, slowing to a walk once he got within range.

"Hey." Kamio announced his presence, suspecting that Kirihara wouldn't realize it otherwise. He was still looking at his knees.

Slowly, Kirihara lifted his head to look at Kamio and Kamio was surprised to see how much Kirihara reminded him of himself, that time in the hospital so many months ago. Mostly bland, but vaguely annoyed at the interruption of whatever thoughts were flying through his head.

"Hi," he said after what felt like a very long pause. It was as if he had forgotten what the word meant.

"Good match," Kamio said awkwardly, holding out his hand though mentally cringing. Why did being captain give him so many awkward responsibilities? W_hy_?

Kirihara looked at the hand but didn't take it. "Not so good. But it will be, later this year." His voice had a sort of forced-arrogance sound to it. It seemed like he didn't want to talk.

"I'm sure." Kamio pocketed his hand, shrugging, and casting about for something else to say. "But you guys don't even have a head coach. Must be difficult, teaching alone. How do you teach, anyhow?"

The words sounded corny even as they left his mouth, but he couldn't pull back the question now that it was hanging in air.

Kirihara looked like he wondered why Kamio was talking to him. Kamio wondered why he was talking to him.

"Got a new head coach this year. He takes care of a lot of the stuff. And there's a new office." Kirihara finally replied.

"Oh." At least he had said something. Kamio nodded. "Sounds interesting."

"Yeah…" Kirihara trailed off vaguely. "It's not."

After a brief pause, Kamio sort of laughed, dryly as possible, and turned to go. Yeah, Kirihara was definitely acting weird, but it wasn't really Kamio's concern. He had done his duty. "I have to catch my bus. I'll see you around."

"Later."

Kamio started to retreat, but out of the corner of his eye he could see that Kirihara was still just sitting there, not moving. Kamio cursed the uncharacteristic nagging of nosiness that wouldn't leave him alone.

"Aren't you leaving?" he asked, once he had made it almost ten paces away, spinning around.

Kirihara looked over, like he was surprised that Kamio was still there. "Bus's gone," he said.

Kamio stared at him, shaking his head. Of course, there was no point asking _why_ Kirihara hadn't taken his bus with the rest of the team; in fact, it seemed like he had missed it on purpose…

"Did you have a plan on getting _back_?" Kamio asked, feeling irritated that he had to drag every piece of information out of Kirihara with a set of pliers.

Kirihara paused. He shrugged.

Kamio sighed, rubbing the top of his head. He glanced over at the Fudomine bus where Shinji was waiting for him and then back at Kirihara.

"…come on."

He beckoned, before turning again and walking back to the bus.

He didn't wait to see if Kirihara actually was following or not: if that guy wanted to spend the night on this tennis court, then Kamio had no business getting in the way of _that_. All he knew was that it looked bad to leave a peer, teammate or not, on an out-of-district court after a match. Even if that peer was a ex-dumb bastard. Kamio wasn't sure what Kirihara was now.

Kamio climbed the dusty steps of the vibrating bus, hearing Kirihara's footsteps following his somewhat belatedly. The bus was mostly empty, really. The Fudomine team only took up eight seats of the thirty or so available. Kamio walked to the back where everyone was loaded and dropped himself into a seat, getting his bag back from Shinji. None of his teammates greeted him. They were all too busy staring at Kirihara as he followed and took a seat at a short distance away from the rest of the team.

"What the hell's he doing here?" Ishida leaned over and muttered into Kamio's ear, though just looking confused.

"He's just getting a ride with us," Kamio said in a loud enough voice for everyone to hear. He hated in when people whispered in the presence of others. "By the way," he turned to Kirihara, who looked incredibly awkward and somehow small in the peeling blue seat. "This isn't a ride all the way home or anything. You can just come with us to Fudomine."

"I can get picked up from there," Kirihara said, nodding. He hadn't pulled or said anything nasty, at least not yet. It was difficult to tell if he was grateful for the ride or not. He didn't seem particularly gracious, but on the other hand, it seemed like he was being careful of his behavior. Of course, Kamio had to wonder how he _himself_ would behave were he on a Rikkadai bus. Then again, Kamio would never allow himself to get into a position like that. He probably would have walked home before he would accept a ride from Kirihara.

In fact, it seemed like Kirihara was already regretting having accepted the ride. He looked highly uncomfortable and out-of-character, sitting there, semi-turned towards the others, but with a distracted enough look about him so as not to be mistaken for someone interested in their conversation. It seemed like everyone else felt strange too, but as the bus started to pull away, people gradually stopped shooting looks at him and began quietly speaking amongst themselves. Kirihara lingered in an awkward angle in his seat, as if not sure about whether or not he was supposed to be social.

"I almost bought those," Shinji suddenly said, breaking the silence near Kamio's side of the bus by down pointing at Kirihara's shoes. "I saw them at this corner shop a couple weeks ago but they only had the kind with red stars and I thought those look dumb so I decided to wait it out and see if they get a new order. They have good grip and they're light, though. The sales guy said." Shinji rattled all this off in a deadpan voice.

"…I know." Kirihara said. He didn't seem to know what else to say to Shinji, especially considering that the last time he had been in such close proximity was when they had almost had a bedside brawl in the hospital.

"Can you really feel the difference in performance though?" Shinji continued, still staring at the shoes, undeterred and fearless as always. "I didn't know whether to trust them or not. Sales people'll say anything to make you buy stuff."

"Well, they're not a miracle or anything," Kirihara shrugged, his shoulders relaxing a little, figuring that he could hold up this conversation as long as the questions were simple. "I just needed some for the new season and they work pretty well. They had a huge selection near where I live. Did you check…"

Kamio leaned back a little, seeing that Kirihara and Shinji seemed to be able to have a semi-normal conversation. Although no one in their right mind would describe Shinji as socially skilled, it was definitely true that he was so _oblivious_ to social convention that he found it easy to talk to everyone. Kirihara looked a little uneasy whenever Shinji's sentences exceeded thirty seconds in length, and kept trying to politely interrupt. Kamio couldn't help but smile a little, recognizing the way that he himself had behaved upon first meeting Shinji….

"Well look, when it comes down to it, it's a freaking pair of shoes, isn't it?" Kirihara was now saying, drumming his fingers restlessly against his bag as he found a neat opportunity to put in a word. "And gear doesn't make the player. I don't think these shoes really helped me that much today, for example." He tried to say it casually, but it came out sounding a little bitter.

"You guys played okay," Shinji shrugged, not noticing Kirihara's tone. "I liked that twisty thing that the underclassman was doing—what was it? That twist—"

"You mean the smash?" Kirihara sounded amused as he cut off Shinji, who was distorting his arm around, trying to demonstrate.

"Sure. It was neat. Could you show me that sometime?"

"Yeah, I guess. It's not really that hard…"

Wait a minute. Kamio sat up straighter and spun around as he realized that he had been idly half-listening to Shinji and Kirihara, who were now making…weekend plans? Had he just heard right?

"I mean, if it's all right with Kamio. Don't want to be polluting his teams' tactics," Kirihara looked over for permission, but with low-cast eyelids, in a very unctuous manner, making Kamio feel as though he were really making fun of him.

Oh no. This was not something that Kamio had bargained for. Were Shinji and Kirihara being _friendly_? The thought made him gulp as Kamio imagined Shinji dragging him all over town to meet Kirihara and play matches. Of course, the whole thing was sort of funny in a way, because Kamio was fairly sure that Kirihara had only agreed because he wasn't in a position to refuse Fudomine a favor and Kamio was certain that Shinji just didn't realize how awkward it was to ask an ex-enemy for help with something like that.

Kamio silently cursed Shinji's big mouth the rest of the way home, though he had to admit that it made the time pass faster and relieved him of the effort of making conversation. Kirihara seemed to noticeably relax during the trip, which only added to Kamio's confusion.

Kamio almost leapt off the bus the moment they arrived back at Fudomine. Kirihara followed at a more languid pace, muttering an offhand thanks that almost got lost on everyone else's shouting and lighting off somewhere fast, leaving Kamio wondering what had just happened. And now it seemed Shinji had made an appointment to see him in a few days. Kirihara clearly had no clue what he had just gotten himself into.

* * *

A/N

Err...yeah. I don't really know what to say concerning this chapter. I know it's been ages since I updated; I've sort of...gone through an upheaval in the last month. I'm not really that into fanfiction anymore, but I'm continuing this story because I like it as an original work. Um...have a good week, everyone?


	9. Chapter 9

**November 12, 2000**

XXX

* * *

The glow of victory, however undeserved it felt, lasted until the following Thursday for Kamio, when a mini before-school crisis threatened his already precariously balanced morning schedule.

Hiro, half-dressed and hopping as he tried to put on his socks without sitting down, tripped and tumbled down the short stairway to the foyer area, and though this was not an entirely abnormal occurrence in itself, he actually managed to hurt himself this time.

Kamio cursed profusely in every language he knew upon seeing the swollen red ankle: it was stuff like this that he was sure was going to send him to an early grave, white-haired with worry. Of course, there was no doubt that in general Kamio just worried excessively over things that normal people would brush off as accidents, but it was the fact that Kamio didn't have the time or resources to take care of Hiro's leg properly that made him nervous.

He hastily wrapped Hiro's ankle with a kitchen cloth and a bag of frozen vegetables since they didn't have ice packs on them, and then had to rush super-speed in order to deliver Yaso to the bus stop on time. Then Kamio got to turn right around and walk back home, after all that break-neck sprinting. Returning home, he decided that he might as well call and excuse himself and Hiro from school, at least for the morning.

Asking their mother to call them out of school was out of the question. Kamio even tiptoed upstairs and peered into her room to check on her, but his mother was fast asleep as he had expected, probably on Ambien. He hated that drug like he hated hell. Mostly because he remembered one time, it must have been several years ago, when it had been dinnertime and he had called his mother to wake up, but she wouldn't. He had shouted and cried and shaken her shoulders, but her head just lolled from side to side and she slept on, oblivious to her son's panic. He hadn't known what to do then (the correct answer had been 'nothing') but that evening he had been genuinely afraid that she was dead. Naturally, the drug wore off a few hours later and she woke up, not seeing what her oldest son was so upset about, but he had been angry then, too angry to talk about it.

He hadn't touched upon the subject with his mother since then, and she regularly took the drug to help her insomnia. Despite it all, Kamio couldn't really bring himself to berate her about it to her face, because when she wasn't in the house sleeping, she was out working.

Anyhow, although Hiro's leg turned out to be fine, he was unable to walk for a while, and when he could, it was with a limp, so Kamio signed him out of school for the whole day, just the way he was accustomed to doing. Schools were really stupid. They always said that 'a parent' needed to sign the child out, but how the hell did they know the difference if Kamio called and said he was Hiro's father or not? They didn't—for all their rules and impositions, the school didn't know a damn thing about how the students' households really ran, so they had no idea that Kamio and his brothers hadn't even seen their father for years. It was one of the reasons Kamio resented school rules so much.

About his own school, Kamio was relatively unconcerned, but he felt a little pang of guilt when he thought of tennis practice, so after fixing lunch for Hiro from random foods in the kitchen (he was the iron chef of putting together scrap food into meals), Kamio phoned the school as himself this time, and asked if he could get a message delivered to one of Ishida's classes saying that he wouldn't be able to come in. Theoretically, Kamio knew that he didn't really have to stay at home—Hiro wasn't helpless or anything—but he just didn't like the idea of leaving his younger brother alone. And he was worried that his mother might wake up and Hiro would have to deal with her.

The extra time at home should have been restful, but it wasn't, what with Kamio having to fetch things for Hiro every five minutes, and make additional plans to personally retrieve Yaso from school.

Thus, when Saturday finally came after what felt like the two longest days in history, Kamio was thoroughly ready to enjoy a day off without guilt. Of course, it was right _then_ that the consequences of Shinji's actions had to manifest.

Kamio's well deserved sleep-in was cut short by rapid knocking on his front door at nine a.m. Needless to say, he spent the first ten minutes trying to find creative ways of using a pillow and blanket so as to block out the sound, but then his brothers woke up and started complaining about the noise, so there really was no choice but to haul himself out of bed eventually.

Kamio could have killed whoever it was by the time he finally opened the door fifteen minutes later.

"Took you long enough, you've had two days off school, why do you sleep so long anyway?" Shinji asked in one breath by way of greeting. He seemed totally oblivious to the fair look of rage in Kamio's eyes, and casually leaned against the doorframe.

"Shinji…" Kamio rubbed the space between his eyes, willing himself not to start shouting. "You know this is my sleep-in day. I know we played well last week, but what…what the _hell_ possessed you to come…"

"I'm meeting Kirihara today, you know that."

"What?" Kamio's sleep-fogged memory went on fast forward and his heart rate shot up as he realized what Shinji was talking about. He didn't like the sound of this. Why was he, Kamio, involved in something that Shinji had organized independently?

"Well, obviously you were invited too, what'd you think?" Shinji said carelessly, reading the look on Kamio's face. "You're not going to make me go there alone, are you?"

"You know, _he's_ probably not bringing a lackey, why do you have to?" Kamio pointed out irately, thinking longingly of his bed. "And I have stuff to take care of at home," he added.

"Oh, come on, it's for an hour. Your brothers can play in the park while we're there. There're slides and stuff."

"They're _eight _and _twelve,_ Shinji, not five—"

"I wanna go to the park." They were interrupted by Yaso stopping at Kamio's elbow and looking curiously at Shinji. "There's slides? I want to go."

Shinji got as close to a triumphant look as he ever managed, and Kamio slapped a hand over his face. Great. Just perfect.

Kamio could handle Shinji, but he didn't think he could manage ostracizing all three of the people in his foyer at that point, especially knowing they would whine all day (or in Shinji's case, all week). Kamio cast over a mental list of his jobs for the day, and though he hated to admit it, besides math homework it wasn't like he had that much stuff to do. So twenty minutes later, after getting himself and the boys ready, Kamio found himself trudging along to the park with Shinji, Yaso, and Hiro, cursing it all.

Of course there were worse ways to spend Saturday mornings, but there was something demeaning about this. Not to mention Kamio realized that he was feeling somewhat nervous, and he didn't know why. And what if Kirihara and Shinji, by some sick, twisted turn of fate, somehow became _friends_? Was Kamio going to have to put up with stuff like this all year? It was only autumn after all; if this got to be a year-long habit, Kamio might have to kill himself. That, or actually rule up some authority and schedule more practices so that there wouldn't be time for fraternizing.

The park on their side of town was by large the most preferred place to hang out, though Kamio had a different secret abode. It was surprisingly well-kept considering that most of the other parks got vandalized within a few weeks and were full of broken equipment or graffiti. Actually, the reason this park was safe was probably because it was mostly concrete and there simply _wasn't_ much to break. Rows of tennis and basketball courts comprised one end; the other side had a woodchip pit with the promised slides, some swings and a sandbox. Everything was made out of some kind of metal that wasn't as easy to mess with as the tough plastic that got torn apart in other parks around town. However, what Kamio really liked about the park was that it was lined with mulberry trees—he had used to come here and climb them when he was younger.

It was unusually hot for this time of year; had been, in fact, for the last few months. Winters were always mild in this area since they were so far south, but even so, the seventy-something degree weather complete with cloudless skies was eerie, and meant that the courts were sort of semi-occupied by the time they arrived. Kamio was surprised and a little infuriated to find that Ishida was also there, along with Mori, meaning that Shinji would have had back-up even without Kamio. However, at least Hiro and Yaso had run to play as soon as they had arrived, so it wasn't a total waste.

Kamio opted to drape himself over one of the benches by the sandbox section, too tired to join Shinji in warming up with teammates. He wondered why he hadn't even thought to bring a notebook or homework or something so he could get something useful done while waiting.

A quarter of an hour passed and Kirihara hadn't shown up. Shinji might have forgotten about the whole thing; he was just playing away with Mori by this point. He probably wouldn't notice if Kamio lit out. He sighed and let his head drop to his knees.

He supposed he must have dozed off for a while, because he woke with a jolt to the sound of Yaso laughing sometime later. Kamio snapped his head up to see what had happened, and was promptly blinded by the sun. When the greenish spots had faded, he quite suddenly became aware that Kirihara had arrived and seemed to be heading over to where Kamio was. He had a tennis bag slung over one shoulder and was tapping his racquet like he was terrifically bored. His gait was directionless and languid; it seemed like he might have wandered there on accident.

"The tennis courts are over there," Kamio automatically said once Kirihara was within earshot, pointing across the grounds.

"It's safe to approach, then?"

Kirihara's voice was dry—much more the way Kamio remembered it from all those months ago than it had been at the prep match. He seemed to be somewhat back in oiled form.

Kamio frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Kirihara kicked at the woodchips. "But I made sure to wear these shoes today, if you know what I mean," he slighted.

Kamio looked down and saw that they were plain white, devoid of any label or brand logo at all. He saw what Kirihara meant but he wasn't sure quite what to say.

Kamio glanced over to the courts. "Aren't you…ahem…playing with Shinji?" it was such a funny sentence that he was unable to keep the smothered-laughter sound out of his voice even though he knew it was annoying.

"Yeah, I am. And thanks for your help back there on the bus, by the way," Kirihara responded.

"What, you couldn't handle one guy by yourself?" Kamio said in mock-surprise.

"It's not so much _handling_ as finding a moment to put in one freaking word," Kirihara retorted, shifting his tennis bag.

Kamio couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, you can't let him get into a stride. You have to chip in regularly or he gets momentum and it doesn't end."

"Well, have you got one of your smokes or something? Something tells me I'm going to need it," Kirihara said shortly, eyeing his to-be opponent distastefully at a distance.

"Got a what?"

"Cigarette."

"Why _would_ I? I don't smoke." Kamio said, completely nonplussed by the request.

Kirihara stopped tapping the racquet. "So was that all for effect that day?"

It took Kamio a few moments to realize what Kirihara was talking about. "_Oh_," he said rubbing his eyes. "No, I don't smoke. That was a once in twelve years thing you caught me at, for Godssake." He couldn't help but feel a little irritated that out of everything that had happened last year, _that_ was what Kirihara remembered. Kamio shook his head again, wanting to get off the topic. "Well, why'd you agree to play Shinji if you didn't want to?" he finally asked a little defensively.

"Like I could have said anything else on that bus," Kirihara pointed out, shrugging.

"You make it sound like we forced a ride on you."

"I should have walked."

"Why'd your team leave without you, anyway?" Kamio asked what he had genuinely been curious about for a while.

The air of easy-arrogance vanished from around Kirihara. His shoulders sort of drooped and he looked away a little, clearly displeased with the question.

"They're just like that," he said finally. "I can't control them." He kicked at the ground moodily.

Kamio watched this dejected-child behavior for a moment, then, unable to control himself, laughed again.

"How is that _funny_?" Kirihara asked irately.

"It's not," Kamio said honestly, his shoulders shaking, wishing he could stop. "But it's just always amusing when I meet a captain who's less in control than I am." He laughed some more and looked up at Kirihara who didn't seem amused. "Come on, have you seen _my_ team? I don't even run it. Ishida tells me what to do, I'm just the figurehead."

Kirihara got a sort of twisted smile on his face when at that moment, at the tennis courts, they could see Ishida saying something that looked suspiciously bombastic to Mori and Shinji, while waving his racquet slowly.

Kamio decided not to push the point about Kirihara's team members, although it seemed like there was something more to it. Kirihara was clearly uncomfortable talking about it and that would just make things tense, much the same way that bringing up Tachibana would upset Kamio. It was kind of annoying really. Like there was some big goddamn elephant in the middle of their table.

"Looks like they're done," Kamio observed after a moment. "Take my advice—go there before Shinji has to call you. It'll just get sticky otherwise."

"Right. This should be fun." Kirihara paused. "So when are we going to get it over with?"

"What?" Kamio asked, raising an eyebrow .

"The match."

"What match?"

"Look, we have to play some goddamn match sooner or later," Kirihara said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I don't think we can get around it."

"Who said anything about getting around it?" Kamio, who had been thinking about running _away_ from it, asked. In truth, he also got the impression that they should eventually play, but deep down, he felt he really didn't want to contend with Kirihara. Just because…of everything. It was such a stupid thing to have to do.

"So after I play your pal today?" Kirihara asked, tapping his foot impatiently.

"I haven't got time today; we can do it next week. I can't keep my brothers waiting all day," Kamio replied honestly, jerking his head.

Kirihara sighed, irked, before glancing over to the swing set. Either he wasn't able to connect the dots or didn't care enough to try, but his brow abruptly relaxed and he smiled unpleasantly, saying, "Fine. It builds it up more." It sounded as though he were insinuating something, though.

"I'm serious, I don't have time today!" Kamio said sharply.

"Whatever. Make sure you practice." Kirihara started walking away.

Kamio narrowed his eyes. He had learned to control his temper a lot since last year, partly a result of getting older, partly due to a summer of babysitting, but something about Kirihara just made him want to act childish.

"I will. Have fun with your team, 'til then!" he couldn't help but call.

Kirihara stopped walking. He glanced back with an expression crossed between amusement and bitterness and Kamio got the impression that he would have liked to give him the finger, but then he just turned and kept walking.

What had he done? Kamio leaned back against the bench as he realized that he had made yet another appointment to meet this strange, troubled guy. Kamio really didn't know how he always managed to talk himself into situations he didn't want to be in. It was all Shinji's fault. If he hadn't arranged this dumb match to begin with...

But it wasn't entirely Shinji's fault, Kamio knew. Despite the fact that he didn't strictly _like_ Kirihara, Kamio found that conversation with him was somehow fluid, the result being that he always ended up bullshitting more than he had intended. Some people were just inherently easy to talk to. Then there were others, like Uchimura, whom Kamio had known for years but still felt like he was scraping his teeth on a brick wall when he tried to hold a conversation with.

Kamio lingered around the park for another ten minutes or so, watching Shinji and Kirihara on and off. He couldn't tell details, but the match seemed to start off normally. Kamio had to admit, it had kind of taken nerve on Kirihara's part to come on his own and end up facing four players from an opposing school.

He vaguely watched the match unfold until Yaso came running from the swings with scraped palms and Kamio decided if this could bother them, then they were bored enough to leave. Kamio very much doubted that Shinji would notice or care now that he was playing Kirihara, and anyway, Kamio now had to produce lunches for the younglings, the nastiest part of Saturdays.

* * *

A/N

Yeah...if you haven't guessed by now, I have no plans for plot. I just sort of write things as I decide to write them, but it's fairly satisfying so far.

by the way: Ambien is a fairly strong sedative/hypnotic


	10. Chapter 10

**November 17, 2000**

XXX

* * *

It had been many months since Kirihara had had plans. And there was something charming about them although he hadn't realized it much last year.

This year had been going terribly so far. He had known that it wouldn't be easy to resurrect the whole team after everyone had left, but he also hadn't expected it to be so damn difficult. It was depressing, really. The fact of the matter was that no one listened to him—well, they _pretended_ to, but he could practically feel the snickering whenever he turned his back. The problem was that guys from Rikkaidai were arrogant as hell, perhaps because of their being raised in so much money or prestige or whatever. Kirihara did not have an age advantage on most of them, and even if he had, it took an exceptional personality to exert any kind of real control over the them. A personality like Yukimura, for example.

God. Yukimura. Kirihara felt ashamed whenever he thought about him. Ever since losing last year, things hadn't been the same. Yukimura had fallen from his pedestal and Kirihara was just grateful that he hadn't come to visit and seen what a mess Kirihara had made of the team since then.

Kirihara really hadn't realized how much he had been given baby-treatment last year. It was embarrassing now that he realized it—it certainly wasn't customary to let players with a propensity for violence do as they wished. It was clear to Kirihara now that he had been given a great deal of leeway by the team, probably due to his talent and Yukimura's fondness for helping people grow. If Sanada had been the captain, Kirihara would probably have been given the boot, he realized now.

Kirihara suspected that this was part of the reason that his new team didn't like him—they resented his special treatment and saw him as undeserving of his ability. It wasn't nice to realize that he had no friends. Not even a cradle to be rocked in, or someplace where he was recognized. It had been a blow when Kirihara realized that everyone thought he was a jerk. Which, upon further reflection, Kirihara realized he probably was.

Anyway, having lost all that attention at once put him in a position of desperately seeking attention in any form, so he had felt quite excited in a way when Shinji had invited him to play. And what was more pathetic was that he had practically been on tenterhooks anticipating his match with Kamio this past week. He wasn't sure why—in all probability, Kamio wasn't even that good, but there was just something inherently fun about doing something you weren't allowed to. In this case, the fact that Kamio had resisted playing so much was what made it so great to finally have a match.

In any case, Kirihara had decided that Kamio was fun. Fun, and therefore worthy.

Maybe it was strange to characterize the redhead like that, since he was incredibly uptight, not to mention pretty weird in a way, but it was true. Kamio was funny. Something in his way of concealing himself from the world mixed with his unbelievable touchiness made him both funny and interesting to Kirihara. Anyway, it wasn't like Kirihara had anything to lose in trying to befriend someone from Fudomine.

"So are you ready to go or what?" Kirihara bounced the ball against the court and tightened his grip on his racquet, feeling a strange pulse of energy, a control and focus he had missed over the months come to him.

"I told you, I don't have that much time," Kamio replied shiftily, snapping his eyes away from the chain link fence that had suddenly become very interesting to him as he found himself across from Kirihara and poised to play.

"What, are you nervous?" Kirihara asked condescendingly. "Don't be. You still run like _light_, even if you are a smoker."

"Shut up. I explained that to you," he spat.

Kamio got mad no matter what you said to him, compliment or not. It was really very amusing and refreshing. Kirihara tried not to look too pleased.

"Aren't you going to take off your bag?" he called instead.

Kamio pretended to follow his eyes and glance at his tennis bag, which was hanging over his shoulder. "I told you, it's just going to be a quick game; I don't have time. I don't think it matters if I keep it on either way."

Kirihara paused, then rolled his eyes and trooped over to the sidelines to get his own tennis bag and put it on.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, if you're giving _me_ a handicap, then I have to do the same, don't I?" he drawled. "The game'll be too unbalanced otherwise."

They eventually got to playing, though Kamio dawdled as long as he could. Kirihara served first and Kamio found the returns surprisingly easy, which made him suspicious. The first few games went by in a fairly even division of points and Kamio attributed the evenness of matching to the fact that they were both playing with tennis bags on.

Around the fifth game, Kirihara's style began to change and Kamio found that he had to seriously snap to attention in order to meet his serves. Kirihara was a pretty versatile player and it showed, as he constantly changed techniques from dashing to lobbing, whereas Kamio mainly relied upon his curious ability to cover the entire court at once. Kamio could feel himself falling behind, although he noted that Kirihara used none of his special moves like "Phantom Ball" or anything. He got the impression that Kirihara was going a little easy on him, as if to preserve the time on the court, which got on his nerves and forced him to step up himself.

Gradually, the game became less and less like tennis. Each ball lasted for longer and longer, as if they were in some sort of team practice doing endurance rallies. By five o'clock the courts were starting to glow in an orange bath of sunlight and the bloody match still wasn't over. The average rally time had become about fifteen minutes.

Eventually, Kamio stopped thinking about the rules altogether and let his mind wander. Neither of them cared what part of the court the ball came to, or even if it went out of bounds. As long as you returned it, it was fair game. Kamio had no idea what the score was, even though they had made some rule about it before beginning. It became a tireless pendulum of back and forth lobbing and Kamio was personally dying from heat and getting angrier as he played.

Kamio couldn't name all that was going through his head. The causes for all his frustration. He wanted to be good, he wanted to be better than Kirihara. Yet, he didn't really care and this whole experience was only reminding him of last year. And he wanted badly to show that Tachibana's training hadn't gone to nothing, and when he thought of Tachibana, before his eyes he saw the match all over again, and that only made him more anxious, thinking more of the past and hitting the ball harder. Kirihara too, it seemed, was putting in considerable effort, but of a different kind.

The game ended when Kamio—he didn't even know if he had done it on purpose or if it was an accident—hit the ball far too hard in a spurt of power. It missed the lines completely, sailed over Kirihara's head and slammed into the fence behind the court.

They stopped playing after that. Kamio didn't think that he could have continued, even if he had wanted to. He felt miserable and emotionally drained, and the tennis bag he hadn't bothered to take off was cutting into his shoulder.

"Nice shot," Kirihara commented sarcastically, to which Kamio didn't respond, but crossed over to the curb to collapse and pull out a bottle of water. Kirihara followed suit.

"I was kidding, you know," Kirihara said. "That was good exercise. We should do it again sometime."

"No." said Kamio.

There was a moment of silence as both of them digested this word. Kamio didn't much know why he had said it. He tugged at the front of his t-shirt that was sticking to his skin.

Kirihara leaned backed and rubbed his head. "No?"

"Just no."

"Hey, it wasn't _that_ bad," Kirihara idly arranged his collar. "I think I won."

"Fine. That's a refreshing change, I suppose?"

Kamio hadn't meant for it to sound so nasty, but he was feeling annoyed. Kirihara merely afforded him a supercilious look.

"That time with Fuji was the first official match I'd ever lost," he said. "I didn't lose again, through the finals and all."

"Oh, yes. The finals," Kamio didn't know how far he was allowed to venture in that topic since he knew it was painful for Kirihara. He had seen him cry after the match.

"That must have sucked," he settled for finally.

"Yeah. Goddamn, this strap's killing me," Kirihara grumbled after a moment, peering into the shoulder of his shirt where presumably the tennis bag had cut him. "I won't be able to move my arm tomorrow."

"Sorry, I didn't realize you were so sensitive. Though on second thought, I probably should have guessed, considering the whole An thing."

Kirihara snapped up at the mention of the name. "Do you still hang out with that bitch? She nearly killed me! My neck was screwy for a month afterward!"

"It was an accident," said Kamio defensively, though he didn't think An needed defending. "You probably started it."

"Yeah, whatever. She's crazy. I don't know who the hell let her out of the cage anyway. Stalking around at night, swiping at people…"

"So she followed you around camp, pushed you down some stairs, and nearly got you kicked out. Big fucking deal." said Kamio, purposely using his bias for all that it was worth to see the look on Kirihara's face. "Aren't you even _a little_ embarrassed you got owned by a girl?" Kamio started laughing.

"Who owned anyone?" Kirihara threw his hands up. "She just swung and I took a bad step back. It's not like she overpowered—"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute…." Kamio almost choked and got his laughter under control. He turned incredulous eyes to Kirihara and slowly asked,

"…She didn't even _touch_ you?"

Kirihara immediately realized he had made the wrong decision by telling Kamio this. He would never live it down now. Kamio was laughing even harder now.

"Well, didn't she tell you?" Kirihara asked defensively, regretting having ever brought it up.

"I didn't ask for every lousy detail…oh my God, you got owned by a girl and she didn't even lay a _finger_ on you!"

This was completely sucking. Kirihara cast around for some method of preserving his honor as Kamio laughed.

"Well, I guess it evened the ground between me and Tachibana."

It had the intended effect: at least Kamio stopped laughing. He frowned and coughed before standing up. "Tachibana was in the hospital for a month and he couldn't lead the team when we needed him most. It's not the same thing at _all._"

Kirihara shrugged and got up, too, wondering when the subject of Tachibana would stop being taboo.

Kamio seemed distracted. He was looking off over Kirihara's shoulder and Kirihara couldn't tell what at. Kamio shifted weight from foot to foot, clearly in a very strange mood. "It's hot as hell out here. Want to go somewhere?"

Kirihara looked around at him in surprise, then shrugged and straightened up. "Fine. Where?"

"Just somewhere…" Kamio seemed pensive. He picked up his tennis bag and put it on again, over the other shoulder this time to reduce the pain. "But Kirihara, let's make one deal."

Kirihara frowned at the strange way Kamio was suddenly holding out his hand, as if to make a solemn pact.

"What the hell you want to make a deal about?" he asked, nonplussed.

"Let's never play tennis against each other again." Kamio held out his hand.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Twenty minutes later, they were picking through woods. Kirihara had shook on it, but he didn't actually think Kamio was serious.

"Where're we going?" Kirihara groused after being whipped in the face by twigs that Kamio pulled back for the fifth time. "This isn't worth it."

"It's hot. We're going swimming," Kamio said.

Kamio wasn't quite sure why he was sharing his secret abode with Kirihara. All he knew was he truly wanted to go to the lake in the woods right now and Kirihara was coming along for the ride.

"In our tennis clothes. Perfect."

Kirihara was not actually as annoyed as he made himself sound; he was more looking to get a rise out of Kamio, but all he did was give Kirihara a withering look and tighten the strap on his tennis bag. "It's not far now."

They walked on in silence for about five minutes, and out of pure boredom, Kirihara initiated the competition.

It started out as sort of speed walking. There were no words exchanged, not even any eye contact, yet in some subtle way, both suddenly felt that they were racing. Kamio was already in front, as he was leading the way, but Kirihara leveled off so he was standing next to him, snapping through the woods with an equal pace. Neither looked at the other.

Kamio half glanced over before quickening his pace just a little bit, stepping back into the trail-blazer position. Kirihara followed. Kamio's feet gradually touched the ground less and less as he started to semi-jog, hopping over the twisted roots on the ground and shouldering his way between the young trees with tiny branches fine as veins.

Kirihara started to jog ahead, seeing that sunlight was spilling through the foliage more heavily ahead, meaning that was clearly the way out.

Kamio was the first one to start all-out running. Within a matter of seconds, both of them were sprinting like they were crazy towards the clearing that signaled the end of the forest. It was harder than it seemed—the lopsided weight of the tennis bags slowed their strides and the awkward shape kept snagging against the branches of the trees. Of course, at this point, neither of them bothered to stop and pull loose, so they would just tear through the brush, not much caring for the abuses the tennis bags were taking. They were both sort of laughing at this point too, for it was so ridiculous and there was no point to this competition, but they were racing just for the hell of it. The were in the clearing now, the running was easier, and then—

With a final stride, they burst out of the woods and now Kirihara could see the promised lake up ahead, past a hill that was in their way. It was so serene, hidden away from the normal bustle that Kirihara couldn't believe it existed.

Now that there were no trees to impede the progress, Kamio began to rapidly overtake Kirihara, as was only natural with his lanky frame built for speed. Kirihara cursed and laughed. The only reason he had been sort of keeping up with Kamio up until now was because of the tennis bag. He realized that there was only one way he might beat the redhead to the lake…

Kirihara lifted the thick, cutting strap from across his chest and threw off his bag. With his newly lightened form and center of mass back in place, Kirihara was able to overtake Kamio.

"Son of a—!" Kamio cursed, seeing Kirihara pass him. There were less than fifty meters from the lake; he had no choice.

Kamio reluctantly fingered his own tennis pack, then in a rush of determination, dropped his as well.

"No you don't!"

Bags abandoned, the two of them saw the lake was only ten meters away now and ran like hell.

* * *

Ah...beautiful, beautiful.

We're finally making some progress in this story! Cheers to the languid pace and happy end of the school year! I don't know what I'll do all summer but write, though that doesn't necessarily guarantee fast updates since each chapter takes me a while to formulate and edit. Happy summer, everyone!

...Yay, double digit chapters! :D (I can't believe I returned to this document just to write that)


	11. Chapter 11

**November 22, 2000**

**XXX**

* * *

"Global warming's true. It has to be," Kamio groaned, leaning back on two legs of the folding chair set out on Shinji's porch and fanning himself with a discarded tennis magazine. "This is un-fucking-_real_."

Though from a family of a similar income class as Kamio, Shinji's house was in a much nicer neighborhood, and had the convenience of a front lawn, which was currently buzzing with cicada-like creatures, giving the humid, late-autumn afternoon a tone much more reminiscent of summer. The two boys sat on Shinji's front porch, soaking in the final rays of sunlight from a long day.

"Did you think they were making it up or something?" asked Shinji, not looking up from his perusal of a tennis gear catalogue. "They said this is going to be the warmest winter on record of the last fifty years. I kind of like it though, we can play tennis outside still."

"That's not the way it's supposed to _be_ though…" Kamio muttered, pulling the front of his damp t-shirt away from his skin and letting his head fall back in discomfort against hot plastic. "Feels like everything's unnatural this year."

"What else is unnatural?" Shinji asked, looking up and cocking one eyebrow.

"Well…" Kamio had more just been thinking aloud when he said that and now on the spot searched for a concrete example. The truth was, he only felt that this year was unnatural in regard to one specific person.

Kamio supposed he had been more or less surprised when Kirihara asked for his phone number the last time they parted, back at the lake in the woods. Kirihara had been floating on his back looking like he didn't give a damn about anything in the world when he asked, but it was not that unusual. Somehow, as Kamio was parting, he shook the water out of his hair, grabbed his bag and saw the muddy tracks that he and Kirihara had made on the bank in their sprint to the lake, and in a flash he saw that this was going to happen again. And again. It was an unsettling thought, but not an entirely unnatural one. Kamio had simply felt like he was looking in a portal into the future.

"Tennis has also been weird this year," he voiced finally, coming back to Shinji. "It feels like our natural enemies became our friends and vice versa…"

"I guess so," Shinji agreed, returning to the magazine. "I kind of like that too. Last year was pretty tense with some people and it feels like we overcame that. Anyway, it's good to have nice weather for longer. Tonight should be extra fun." He said all this in an offhand voice that did not mirror any kind of excitement, though Kamio knew better than to judge.

Kamio blinked. "What's tonight?" he asked, hoping he hadn't forgotten something important.

Shinji looked at him blankly. "Ishida's birthday, remember?"

Oh, shit. Kamio colored slightly before he could help himself. He vaguely considered lying that he had remembered, but Shinji knew him too well; would see through the ruse immediately…

"You really forgot," Shinji said tonelessly when he saw Kamio casting about for words. "Your head really isn't in anything lately. You've probably been thinking about other things too much, you have a lot of stuff going on…"

"Shinji, what am I going to do?" Kamio squawked, interjecting over his friend's mumbling. "I'm supposed—to meet Kirihara this evening…"

Somehow the admission came out more awkward that Kamio was intending and he mentally face-palmed, as he had made it sound like he was doing something wrong.

"Well," Shinji had the faintest glimmer of a smirk on his face and closed the catalogue. "Maybe you could reschedule your date in light of the fact that it's your teammate's—"

"It's not a date!" Kamio interjected crossly, a little more harshly than he had intended. "But I hate cancelling on people at the last minute. It's just a shitty thing to do."

"So why don't you just invite Kirihara to the party?" Shinji pointed out, shrugging as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Kamio looked sharply at his friend, but in truth he had been considering the same thing. Merely inviting Kirihara to the party would be the cleanest way to earn himself politeness points while simultaneously crushing the possibility of the two of them hanging out. Given that there was nearly no way that Kirihara would accept the invitation it was actually a win-win situation.

"…do you think any of the others will mind?" he finally asked slowly.

"I don't think it's that kind of party," Shinji said with a grin. "You've been enjoying your time with Kirihara, haven't you?" he added, looking away.

Kamio rolled his eyes. "I guess."

Kamio didn't really feel like elaborating, but those words were true further than even Shinji knew. In truth, that afternoon Kamio and Kirihara spent at the lake had been almost manic in terms of energy level. Following their stupid race thing they had both basically tripped over each other on the bank and fallen into the water, which was wonderfully refreshing after the exercise. There they had hung out for several hours just swimming around and sort of chatting and arguing about random non-tennis related things, and it hadn't occurred to Kamio to feel awkward about it until after when he was getting out and his soaked clothes sticking to his body reminded him that he was in a freaking _lake_, his secret spot in the _woods_, with fucking _Kirihara_ of all people.

That awkwardness didn't change the fact that it had been quite…fun though, grudging as Kamio was to admit it. As they were leaving Kirihara was saying that Kamio had to check out a comic shop near his house (one of the things they had discussed), and they had made plans to visit there that evening, which clearly was not going to happen now, which relieved Kamio just a little even as he felt bad for blowing Kirihara off.

Come to think of it, Kamio wasn't completely sure why he was so wary of befriending Kirihara and so reluctant to spend time with him even when it seemed pretty evident that Kirihara was genuinely making an effort to be friends. It wasn't really Kirihara's fault, Kamio knew. It wasn't really him…so there was no reason to treat him like a criminal before he did anything wrong.

"It doesn't matter if I invite him anyway," Kamio voiced out loud, more to assure himself than anything. "He won't say yes."

XxX

Kirihara regretted his acceptance nearly the minute he hung up the phone. Sure, he had hung out with Kamio on several occasions now, and had met a few of the other team members individually while playing tennis or some other activity—but taking them all on in one shot was quite another matter altogether. He grimaced as he tied his laces. The shit he had to do to get a friend in the world. He was clearly desperate and it pissed him off to think about how ridiculous it was. On the other hand, maybe this evening could be invested in charming a few of the other Fudomine boys into his possession by the end of the night. He was collecting friends like butterflies.

Kirihara wasn't quite sure what to expect from this night, either. Kamio hadn't given any details other than that it was Ishida's birthday, probably anticipating a refusal on Kirihara's part to attend. Kirihara had accepted, partly just to spite this anticipation, and partly because he really had nothing better to do anyway. Moreover, although he hated to admit it, he had been looking forward to seeing Kamio, to working him up with snide little comments and hearing Kamio's smartass response to everything. At the very least, this way he could ruin Kamio's evening like Kamio had ruined his. It was always a good thing to him to be able to crash some party.

This invitation at least showed that Kamio was more or less comfortable with Kirihara's company, which was a good step for Kirihara. He was less sure what the rest of the team thought of him, and consequently had prepared a few snide comments to have ready at the point if any of them started to harass him about Tachibana. Dressed all in black, Kirihara sighed a little, hoping that he wouldn't seriously regret this decision later. It was just a party though. How bad could it be?

XxX

"Charmed," Kirihara held out his hand in a mock-princess gesture as he came abreast of Kamio and Shinji at the bus stop in the old part of town that they had agreed to meet at.

Kamio rolled his eyes but Shinji nodded seriously, as always oblivious to any sarcasm. "Hey, Kirihara. How's it going?"

"Decent," Kirihara replied easily, folding his hands behind his head, as was a habit of his when he was somewhat uncomfortable in a situation. "Curious to see how Fudomine kids amuse themselves in a trash-hole like this..." he commented, looking around at their relatively humble surroundings, though behind his tone there was a real curiosity.

"Well hopefully you won't be too disappointed. By our trash-hole," Kamio interjected coolly, determined not to let Kirihara get the best of him this early in the night. "Sorry I couldn't make the comics."

"Not a problem at all," were the pseudo-polite replied words, though the tone said otherwise. "Why don't we head out?"

"I was just going to say that. It's already half past nine, we need to go," said Shinji.

Kirihara allowed for one more smirk at Kamio before following the two of them down the street and away from their meeting point. Despite his earlier comment, Kirihara genuinely was interested and curious to see what they would be doing tonight. He really could not guess as it was somewhat late for any popular party destinations and moreover that there didn't look to be anything particularly fun in this area. This night better pay off in terms of badgering Kamio, he thought, for the effort he had made in coming out. Fortunately Ishida's house was not far and they only had to endure the somewhat awkward silence of travel for a few minutes before turning into a residential neighborhood and slowing their walking pace. No matter how Kirihara felt about the situation, he was surprised by the sight that met them as they approached the door that could only be to Ishida's house. Shinji greeted it like it was totally normal and Kamio, while not uncomfortable, looked a little amused.

Uchimura opened the door after Kamio knocked twice. He looked at the three of them vaguely for a few moments before wordlessly pausing, then holding up one finger, as if willing them to wait for him to say something. They waited, and after a moment, Uchimura pointed to Kamio and beckoned him forward silently. Kamio stepped forward, looking politely perplexed and once he was in range, Uchimura nodded and reached up, draping his arms over Kamio's neck, pulling the redhead closely into a lover's embrace, although the overall effect was hilarious since Uchimura was roughly a foot shorter than Kamio. Kirihara watched this in utter bemusement, but Kamio seemed amused, if a little uncomfortable in the grip. After Uchimura didn't move for about ten seconds, Kamio said, "Thanks, it's nice to see you too, Uchimura," and patted him on the back before gently peeling the other boy off him, who staggered backwards into the house. All this could _almost_ have passed for almost normal, if a little unusual, if not for the moment later screaming coming from inside the house of, "GET IN AND CLOSE THE DOOR ALREADY!"

Not wasting a second, Kirihara felt a slight pressure on his shoulder as Shinji quickly pushed him in, causing him to bump into Kamio from behind, and quickly shut the door behind them.

They were standing in a small, dark foyer, and ahead, Kirihara could see light emitting from an open door, which Uchimura staggered through. Wrong-footed and slow as he was feeling, it began to dawn on Kirihara what was going on as he followed Shinji and a grinning Kamio opened the doors and fairly ran down the stairs. Kamio was grinning in a way Kirihara had never seen, and gestured his head before running down the stairs. "Well, come on."

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, they were now standing in semi darkness at the edge of a fairly large but mostly furniture-less room containing a ping pong table, a television, a sofa and six varying-levels-of-drunk Fudomine tennis team boys. Kirihara watched in fascination at the general motion of the room, as the boys seemed to be playing some sort of version of ping pong, except with the additional involvement of headstands, and hands-only.

Kamio looked over and short of half-shrugged at Kirihara. He raised an eyebrow. "Help yourself," he said simply, and Kirihara found himself gravitating towards the nasty-looking card table of drinks set up in the corner, feeling more nervous now than he had at any point in a tournament, even the finals against Seigaku. It wasn't that he was some innocent kitten or anything but…. as a matter of preserving his health for tennis and on Yukimura's orders, he had barely drunk at all before in his life.

Which made this terribly exciting. What the hell did he have to lose after all, and one night of drinking couldn't hurt him. After all, it looked like the Fudomine team had done this at least once before, and THEY kicked ass at tennis, so it couldn't be too bad for you.

Not wanting to come off as any less experienced, Kirihara seized the first thing that appeared sealed and full of liquid on the table, a can with a label he didn't recognize. Kamio shook his head as he made eye contact with Kirihara again.

"By the way, I know you think I'm a fucking alcoholic now…" he said. "So just to be clear…I'm not. We don't do this often. I don't usually have time anyway."

Kirihara may have been imagining it, but he felt that there was a strange darkness to the way Kamio said the last thing. Kamio however, quickly shrugged and raised the can to his lips.

"Wait wait wait wait wait...you brought Kirihara?" Any further conversation was interrupted by Ishida sauntering over to the two of them along with two people Kirihara didn't recognize, and he seemed fairly drunk himself but was gazing at Kirihara with bleary eyes, making Kirihara instinctively tense. "Seriously? Seriously? I—oh, who the fuck cares? Welcome, you bastard! Make yourself at home!"

"No invitation necessary!" Kirihara smirked, pleased that no one was trying to fight him here and feeling his shoulders relax from the momentary stress. _No one here was trying to fight him._ It was glorious. It was such a simple fact, but at its recognition, Kirihara could almost feel his old self, the way he had felt last year on his team reemerging in this setting, and it was glorious. That lightness, the feeling of being surrounded by friends, by people who liked you the way you were, who could coexist without trying to hurt you—it was incredible…..

Everything only seemed to get more fun from there. Although Kirihara couldn't be described as uptight by any means, he could feel the frustration at a number of events in his life slowly melting away he drank, as if a weight were being lifted from his shoulders, and he felt better as he started to get mildly lightheaded. Pretty soon everyone was shouting around him, Kamio included. Kamio now seemed to think that he had to shout for anyone to hear him, and he was grinning in a way that reminded Kirihara of how Kamio had been last year, back when things were carefree and fun, back before the shit had hit the fan. It was nice to see him like that for a change, acting rouge-ish and immature for once, running around doing stupid things.

And Kirihara was enjoying himself too. He had gotten caught up a game of racquet-less ping pong with a guy he didn't remember the name of—some dude that he half-recognized from the team but never talked to—and found himself quite absorbed in the match for a while. Each sloppy hit back with his palm or backhand sent the dirty orange ball whizzing over the table and with every whack Kirihara was reminded how out of his income class he was here, surrounded by these scrappy boys doing something he had never done before, and it was all but intoxicating as his control slipped away. Kirihara didn't remember the last time he had felt this free to do or say anything and not care about the consequences of those actions. He was here with people he was not friends with doing something he was not generally comfortable with, and yet somehow…he felt more like himself than he had in many months and felt the company of the room closing in on him, threatening to engulf him once again. It didn't make any sense, it was a paradox….

Kirihara's drunken reverie was eventually broken by Kamio calling him over from the other side of the room some time later.

"Kirihara. Kirihara. Kirihara. Kirihara."

Kamio was repeating his name until Kirihara broke from the table. "For the love of god, WHAT?"

Looking over, Kirihara saw that Kamio and several of his teammates were in the middle of what looked like a makeshift jousting match and he raised an eyebrow before lighting over to where Kamio was.

"Wass going on?" Kirihara asked, as he arrived, and felt a grab at his ankle, before tumbling to the floor. Without knowing what was happening, Kamio had dragged him behind the couch.

"You're on our team," Kamio whispered, eyes wide. They were sitting with Sakurai, and Ishida was no more than a body lying passed out a meter away.

"Team for wha—"

"Hold this!" Sakurai whispered, shoving several empty beer cans into Kirihara's hands.

"Okay, this is it," Kamio said softly, pulling out a roll of duct tape. "Now hold those steady, willya? Stack them."

Still not knowing what was going on, Kirihara obediently stacked the beer cans as best he could, two or three at a time, since his hands were shaking. Kamio ripped off a large piece of the tape and began to attach the cans that Kirihara had stacked so that they were taped into a wobbly pole-like structure. Kirihara couldn't help but giggle a little as they did so, with Kamio looking so serious, and Sakurai continually butting in with suggestions for how to improve it.

"Alright, it's almost done!" Kamio said enthusiastically. "But we need a handle now!" he added some more cans in a loop shape until they had created what appeared to be a large 'P' out of beer cans and duct tape.

"You guys ready?!" Kamio shouted around the sofa.

"When you are, you slow pokes!" Mori shouted back, and Kamio stuck out his tongue most uncharacteristically at him, before ducking his head again.

"Okay guys, this is it," Kamio said to the other two. "Now help me up…we're winning this round!"

Kamio got to his feet with the help of Kirihara and Sakurai, and they stabilized him as he stepped onto a skateboard. On the other side of the room, Mori also got onto his board, and Kamio stuck his arm through the loop of the P-shaped beer can pole.

"On ya mark….get set… GO!" Shinji shouted.

The air was instantly rent by screams as members of either team started cheering on their competitor. Kirihara watched as Kamio, with one hand on the couch for balance and the other gripping his beer-can lance, pushed forward on the skateboard and started skidding across the room, while Mori did the same from the other side. When they came abreast of each other, each made a violent stab with the beer can lances, and Kamio's hit Mori in the stomach, pushing him off the skateboard, although Kamio had flung too wildly, and consequently fell off his skateboard too, putting both the boys in a heap on the ground.

Kirihara had been laughing uncontrollably since Kamio had gotten on the board, and even through his drunkenness he could tell it was one of the stupidest things he had ever seen in his life. Which was precisely why it was perfect.

"Think it's funny, do you?" Kamio shouted from the ground, but not malevolently, upon seeing Kirihara laughing. "You're next, you bastard!"

"Bring it on," Kirihara grabbed the skateboard and moved it back to their side of the room, still laughing. "At least I'll stay on!"

"Don't count on it," Sakurai warned. "It's more tricky than it looks."

"Your mom's more tricky than she looks!" Uchimura shouted randomly from the other side of the room.

"Akira, get out of the way! I'm going to win back your goddamn _pride_, for God's sake," Kiriahra shouted, grinning, and stuffing his hand through the damaged, but still useable lance. "I'm going!"

Kirihara started pushing off with his foot, and Kamio frantically rolled out of the way to avoid getting run over, although it hardly mattered, since Kirihara barely made it two feet forward before he fell forward, and the skateboard shot away from under him before he even made it to Shinji, who was the opponent jouster this round.

Kirhara landed hard on his elbows, sprawled over Kamio's legs, both of them laughing so hard they couldn't get back up. "Earned back my pride, did you?" Kamio choked out through his laughs.

"That was bullshit! The skateboard is loaded!" Kirihara shouted. "I demand a rematch! A swordfight on foot!" He swung the lance around wildly and lifted it up to challenge Shinji, but the tape had weakened considerably, and half of the lance flopped over, making the weapon useless.

"What's wrong with this thing?" Kirihara said, eyeing the bent weapon petulantly.

"Well Kirihara, I guess it just doesn't think you're very attractive" Kamio managed to choke out, before collapsing in laughter again.

It took a moment for that to sink in for Kirihara, at which point he shouted, "You!" and took a swing at Kamio with the cans, who was still trapped with Kirihara on his legs.

"Gimme that!" Sakurai grabbed the lance from Kirihara. "I can't belieeeve you guys, you broke my master sword!" Sakurai whined. "Do you know how long it takes to fix these? Now we're going to have to go all the way to Hyrule, and collect shards of shadows, and fight beasts, and I just _know _some bitch is going to need saving…"

Kirihara couldn't even hear anymore, he was at the point where he almost felt high on laughter, even though the drunkenness was diminishing. Being here in this moment just felt so right, and so complete, it was almost frightening…

"Okay. Wow. I'm hungry." Kamio said, sitting back up. "Isn't there birthday cake or anything?" he complained loudly.

"Check the kitchen," was Shinji's response.

The speed ace appeared to take this as a personal challenge as he got unsteadily to his feet and then bolted as fast as his inebriated legs could take him back up the stairs to the kitchen.

As much fun as he was having, Kirihara found that his head was beginning to spin a little, which was not a comfortable sensation and he sensed that he ought to get some fresh air.

Opening the sliding door at the side of the basement to the backyard and stepping out into the night that had cooled off quite a bit by now, Kirihara shivered slightly, and began to pick his way across the lawn, heading for a dark shape right in the middle of the yard, which turned out to be a trampoline on further inspection. Not a perfect solution, but it would do…

Kirihara let his body drop onto the trampoline and as his head fell back it was a wonderful sensation of cool, slightly dewy plastic against his hot skin. Kirihara took a few deep breaths, taking in the sky above him, which suddenly seemed amazingly full of stars. It was as if every thought and emotion inside him were suddenly magnified one hundred times and the scene was so beautiful he couldn't take his eyes away from it.

Kirihara let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding and sucked another one in. That was better. That was much better. His heart rate began to return to normal and Kirihara felt himself cooling off, coming down from the buzz and just enjoying the fresh air. This was a good feeling in its own way, he decided. He gradually felt more in control of his actions like this, which was probably a good thing.

"Yo."

The voice of Kamio entered his thoughts and Kirihara looked around to see the redhead approaching the trampoline by himself, carrying what looked like half of a cake in his hands.

"That looks…amazing," Kirihara said the first thing that came into his mind as he eyed the approaching cake.

"Why thank you," said Kamio sarcastically, taking a half-bow. "I do what I can."

He approached the trampoline and jumped onto it next to Kirihara, letting himself collapse so that they were lying side by side. Kamio took a large chunk of the cake out in his hand and started eating. "Yo' should haff' some," he said thickly, while chewing. "Drinkin' on empty stoma'…"

"Kamio!" Kirihara said in mock honor, putting a hand over his heart and fluttering his eyelashes. "Are you worried about me?" he asked, though he started digging into the cake either way.

Kamio rolled his eyes. "Guess again." He echoed the words of so many months ago and for a brief moment they made eye contact, remembering that morning in the hospital room. It felt like so long ago, so far away it was crazy.

Kirihara was the first to start laughing. "That was really stupid, even then," he said in his best cackle.

"Fuck you, you were the one who started it," Kamio shot back, though he was tittering as well.

"I know, I was," Kirihara acknowleged. "And I don't care."

Kamio looked at him levelly, pulling off another piece of the cake. "I know you don't."

What Kamio didn't quite know was why he himself didn't care much anymore either.

"So, very clever plan to get out of going to the comic books by the way," Kirihara added. "A great cover up. I like how you even staged the party with all of your friends. That was a nice touch."

"Pssh," Kamio dismissed this comment with a wave of his hand. "I'll go to your stupid comic books any time. This was just too good of a night to pass up. It had to end outside."

Kirihara looked up at the stars again, felt the cool air around him and an internal grin taking over at Kamio's words. "Agreed."

* * *

**A/N**

It's been so long...

Could have been happier with this but whatever, I tried!


End file.
